


Everybody's A Bit Lonely

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, College, Conventions, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Happy Ending, Friendship/Love, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Modern Era, Past Relationship(s), Possessive Behavior, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-06-24 15:52:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 54,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15633870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bucky and Steve had been attached at the hip their whole lives; shared everything together, did everything together, friends since before they could even talk. But, for the first time in seventeen years, Bucky was leaving Brooklyn, moving back in with his mom and sister to his hometown in Indiana. Their romantic past had been rocky, feelings kept disclosed and hush-hushed, but as the days drew closer to Bucky moving away, a swarm of undisclosed emotions came to bubble at the surface between the two best friends. Neither of them know how to cope being without the other, and so they don't. Bucky plays with Steve's emotions for his own gain, Steve willingly lets him, and everything turns a bit unhealthy, as per usual.Steve was the one person he could connect with over his dad's passing, over not being able to afford weekly groceries, over being an outcast. Steve was there for him when he had nothing, and the intensity of their bond terrifies him to the core. He doesn't know what he wants, or how to commit to just one feeling. And so, he doesn't.-"I'll see you in the future when we're older, and we are full of stories to be told. Cross my heart and hope to die, I'll see you with your laughter lines."





	1. That Time Bucky was a Ghostbuster

                                                    

* * *

 

 

 

Bucky ripped a piece of clear packing tape with his two front teeth, smoothing it lengthwise over one of many brown cardboard boxes that filled up the entirety of his living room. He’d practically been awake since the crack of dawn, rushing to get everything ready for the movers, books and small knick-knacks and half folded blankets sprawled about his cluttered couch.

 

Despite leaving for Indiana in less than twenty four hours, Bucky thought it’d be a great idea to leave everything up to the last minute. His kitchen remained untouched, furniture in place as if everything were the usual, hadn’t even picked up his last check from work yet, though he’d do that tomorrow sometime — it was almost overwhelming the amount of work he’d put off and Rebecca wouldn’t be there until morning to help him out.

 

Rubbing the back of his palm against his sweat drenched forehead, he mosied around to an open spot on the wood floor, back pressed against the first steps of the staircase. He slid his phone from his front pocket, thumbing in his passcode, giving his wallpaper a quick glance; a picture he took with Steve last year at Coney Island, Steve’s face sunburnt like a tomato but smiling nonetheless. Pressing 2 on his keypad, he clicked speaker, rings nearly echoing against the uncomfortably bare walls.

 

"Steve?” he blurts immediately once the second ring abruptly came to a halt midway.

 

“Hey Buck,” Bucky could hear a mix of wind and footsteps crackling through the line.

 

Bucky felt his lips pulling. "What're you up to? You out?” he pulled his knees into his chest, resting his arm on top.

 

Steve chuckled. “Kinda. Just checking out the campus. Was supposed to meet that Sam guy for lunch about an hour ago but that got blown off, again.”

 

“That’s the roommate guy?” Bucky asked, brows furrowed as he fiddled with the worn hem of his jeans.

 

“Yeah. Still haven’t actually met him yet,” there was a pause, “but I’m really hoping to before we start, y’know— living together.”

 

“Makes sense,” he replied faintly, tugging out a thread. “Hey, so… If you ain’t got plans the rest of the afternoon, you mind lending me a hand? There’s so much shit to pack up, don’t know how the hell this is gonna get done by tomorrow.”

 

"I mean,” he could hear Steve laughing, “there's always the option of selling it, or just...  throwing it out." His own smile exposed more of itself the longer Steve talked. He gazed out the wide window obscured behind his couch, watched as a couple passing by walked their three dogs down the corridor. "The minimalist lifestyle might suit you well, Buck."

 

"Yeah, nah. Holding onto shit is my specialty, you know that,” he remarked, eyes lazily scanning across the room: too many sentimental letters, not enough clothes, an overflowing backpack jutting out of a discolored, nearly falling apart, photo box. “Just comes to bite me in the ass most of the time."

 

Steve chuckled, faux sighing. "Okay, okay. I need to go talk to my counselor then I’ll head there around 4ish, okay?”

 

“Sounds good,” Bucky one-handedly pushed himself to stand, eyes locked on a specific letter laying center of the coffee table — pencil lightly jotted on lined paper, edges folded back and creased down the middle— “Why you gotta see your counselor? You in _trouble_ , Stevie?”

 

He could hear him scoff, knew he’d have to be rolling his eyes. “No, jackass. Just need to go over my class schedule and stuff.”

 

Bucky turned the letter, giving it a once over. He smirked to himself. “You remember that time they called your mom ‘cause Ms. Whittaker sent you to the principal's’ office?”

 

“Yeah… Was that because we stole old cans from the cafeteria and tried to make one of those string phone things?”

 

“No. But that was pretty good idea, not gonna lie,” he shook his head. “Nah, talking about the time you walked into class and your nose was fuckin’ spewing blood everywhere.”

 

“Oh yeah! That jerk — what was his name, Tommy? He tried to mug me for my lunch money and clocked me ‘cause I didn’t give him the dollar fifty in my pocket.”

 

Bucky bit his tongue, snorting. “Fuckin’ liar! You found one of those super balls lying around in the grass and tried seeing how high you could get it. If that’s the cover story you used, it’s awful.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Steve’s pitch shifted lower. “That’s right…”

 

“Yeah, that _is_ right. Busted your own damn nose, idiot.” He could hear Steve cracking up, coughing between chuckles. “Your mom scolded you for getting in _another_ fight that week but you just started laughin’ cause you know you’re shit at lying.”

 

“Isn’t that a good thing? Just means I’m better at being honest.”

 

“Not when you’re trying to cover up something _that_ embarrassing,” he folded the letter, carefully placing it in the old photo box, on top of all the rest, eyeing the half unzipped backpack.

 

“Whatever,” Steve sucked in a breath. “Hey, I’m here. I can let you know when I’m taking off.”

 

“Okay Stevie,” Bucky nodded gently. He reached into the backpack’s front pocket, admiring a yearbook photo of Steve from seventh grade.

 

“See you soon, Buck.” And as Bucky was about to get out the word ‘Bye’, Steve snapped his fingers, speaking up, louder. “Oh wait!”

 

Bucky raised a brow curiously. “What’s up?”

 

“You know Lucky Kitchen, just down the street?”

 

Bucky let his eyes roll on their own, sighing. “What do you want?”

 

“Uhh, just sweet and sour chicken.”

 

“Brown rice?” Bucky asked.

 

“Yeah. Oh! And also spring rolls.”

 

“And to drink?”

 

“Cherry Coke?” Steve asked quietly.

 

Bucky sucked in his lips. “Anything else?”

 

“That’s all. Thank you Bucky,” Steve cooed. He could hear the creek of a door opening, the sound of a woman’s voice greeting him. “See you.”

 

“Bye Steve.” Putting his phone down, Bucky dug further through photos, finding a sun faded polaroid from their senior prom — his arm draped over Steve’s shoulder, Steve leaning into him with a genuine wide-mouthed grin, his suit tailored nothing less of perfect. He pulled off the bits of leftover tape, sliding the photo into his wallet.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Balancing a plastic bag overstuffed with takeaway containers in one arm, Bucky pushed his back into their favorite restaurants’ door, bells jingling. He adjusted the bag in his hand, making his way back to his, soon to be, former apartment complex. He felt a series of soft buzzes against his leg, Bucky grunting in response.

 

He carefully pulled his phone out, flicking his thumb up the screen.

 

**Stevie -** 4:32 PM

I’m hereee

 

**Stevie -** 4:32 PM

Let’s get to packing. :-)

 

**Stevie -** 4:33 PM

You gonna let me in?

 

**Stevie -** 4:33 PM

Is that you?

 

 

Bucky snickered. Steve was resting against the stone bedding surrounding the complex’s budding garden. He casually glanced Bucky’s way.

 

**Me -** 4:34 PM

What do you think

 

As Bucky started to get closer, within Steve’s range of clear sight, his face lit up instantaneously. He jumped from his leaning position, waving.

 

“Hey bud,” Bucky wrapped his free arm around Steve’s back, pulling him closer. “Got a delivery for you.”

 

“Good, I’m starved,” Steve looked up at him. “How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you since Nat’s wedding.”

 

“Been good, Steve,” Bucky raised his brows, unlocking the noisy metal front gate. “Really been that long?”

 

Steve nodded. “Yeah, well, we haven’t really had a second to catch up since you’ve been all crazy busy with moving.” Bucky could hear a tinge of sadness to his voice.

 

“Guess that’s what we’ll do tonight,” he squeezed Steve’s shoulder.

 

Steve gave him a stern look. “ _While_ we’re packing. I swear if you leave it all to the last second…”

 

“Then I’ll just make Becca do it,” he teasingly stuck out his tongue, Steve flicking his ear in response.

 

Bucky unlocked his front door, kicking it in slightly. Steve asked, “What time does her flight get in again?”

 

“Bright and early,” he turned on the light switch, “Seven.”

 

“Don’t put the poor girl to work _that_ early, Buck. Jeez,” Bucky mirrored his expression, chuckling to himself. “Did a…”

 

“What?” Bucky shoved an upstanding wardrobe box out of the way, setting the take out bag down on the table, moving a plethora of papers first. Gathering an armful of knitted and plush blankets, he threw them on the floor.

 

“Did a tornado come through here or is this normal?” Steve’s mouth was agape, expression dumbfounded.

 

“It’s always like this. Just shove everything under the bed real fast before you come over,” he stretched back into the couch, letting out a huff of relief. He patted the, mostly clean, cushion next to him.

 

“And you just let it slide this one time?” Steve shimmied his way over to the couch, plopping beside Bucky, crossing his legs.

 

“Haven’t seen you in a few weeks, remember? Didn’t even know you were coming over,” he crossed his arms behind his head, eye flickering to stay open.

 

“Yeah, but I told you I was two hours ago.”

 

“And I got you this,” he shifted forward, rattling the plastic bag. “Took up all my cleaning time.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Steve puts his hands up in defeat, laughing. “Thanks again,” he pulled out a slightly damp container, undoing the top flaps. “Woke up late this morning,” he shoved in a mouthful of rice with a plastic fork, “didn’t really have time to get breakfast — man this is good.”

 

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Steve,” he yawned, eyes reluctantly closing.

 

“Every meal of the day is important,” Steve replied matter-of-factly. He could feel Steve’s eyes watching him as he slowly started to sink into the worn cushions.

 

“Exactly.”

 

“How long have _you_ been awake? You’re falling asleep over there.”

 

“I don’t know,” he started to count on his fingers before throwing his head back, “too long.”

 

“Here,” Bucky felt something cold pressed to his chin, opening his eyes to see Steve shoving the Cherry Coke before him. “Gotta keep up your energy.”

 

“Doesn’t really help but, guess it’s better than nothing,” Bucky unscrewed the cap, drinking from the plastic bottle.

 

Steve snatched it from him, mid-sip.  “Not too much, though. Don’t want it infected with your germs.”

 

“Screw you,” Bucky shook his head, waving off Steve. “You like my germs.”

 

“Not in my drinks, I don’t!”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure.” Sitting up straight, he stretched out as far as he could, pulling the photobox onto the couch, placing it between them. “Lookit what I found earlier,” he grinned.

 

“An old backpack and a shitty box?”

 

“This is _your_ old backpack and the box ain’t shitty,” as he moved the box, the side tore, his smile faltering. “Okay, maybe it’s a bit shitty.” He set the backpack to the side, fishing his hand through stacks of photos. “Think there’s a photo in here somewhere of us taking a bubble bath together.”

 

“...When we were kids, right?”

 

Bucky hit Steve’s arm. “Obviously. Don’t have any recent photos of that. My phone ain’t waterproof, Steve.”

 

Steve looked embarrassed, face red. Clearing his throat, Steve picked up a photo. “The hell is this— oh man,” the incriminating snapshot exposed an early teen Bucky, scowling in a black  vest whose sleeves had been cut off sloppily, revealing a slate grey denim jacket underneath; his arm was crossed, a few composition books sandwiching a Dostoevsky paperback piled across, and his free hand was exposed… Flipping off the camera.

 

“This is from your emo phase, huh,” his voice rose in pitch in attempt to stifle his laughter, “when you wore all that leather and grew your hair out.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky ripped the photo from Steve’s hand, looking it over. “This one’s going.” Shifting to stand, he felt a tug on the back of his shirt.

 

“Awh Buck, c’mon,” Steve was laughing, to the point of having tears in his eyes, “It’s funny, not in a bad way though. Just leave it.”

 

“Fine,” he set the photo aside. He dug around more, picking up a photo at random. A photo from Halloween ‘05, taken outside the Barnes’ old house. The yard was decorated with styrofoam tombstones, trees laced with polyfil cobwebs and oversized spiders. The two of them stood side by side, overflowing candy baskets in tow, held up proudly for the camera. Steve, dressed as his favorite baseball player, had pretty much just worn his Little League uniform with a vintage Brooklyn Dodgers hat that he’d found at a card shop. Next to him, Bucky stood dressed in a dinosaur onesie, trying to imitate a growl but instead, it just turned out looking pretty silly.

 

“Man, we got so much candy that year. Probably ‘cause everyone thought you were my little brother.”

 

“Pretty sure they just gave us candy because they pitied the guy wearing the dinosaur pajamas,” Steve retorted without missing a beat.

 

“Nah, they thought I was adorable.”

 

“You’re not,” Steve said, his poker face unconvincing.

 

“I was! Almost as adorable as you are right here,” Bucky rifled under a mess of photos for his prize: a shot of freshly 16-year-old Steve standing beside Bucky, their mothers and his sister surrounding them, Becca making that damn ‘bunny ear’ pose she always did. The Barnes’ had surprised Steve and his mom with a trip to Mount Rushmore for his birthday that year — that had been Steve’s first time on an airplane. He could distinctly remember the nerves coming off Steve, how he squirmed in his seat like an excited child, looking out the window their entire flight.

 

“ _You_ think I’m adorable, Buck?” Steve pinches Bucky’s cheek, puckering his lips at him.

 

Snagging an upside-down photo from the top of the haphazard stack, Bucky flipped it over to reveal an old Thanksgiving family photo: Becca standing in the corner of the kitchen at their grandparents’ house screaming, Bucky’s mom pulling out a turkey that’s on fire from the oven, Bucky’s uncle trying to put out the flames. Embarrassed but amused, he used it to change the subject anyways. “You remember this?”

 

“How could anyone not?” Steve snorted. “Rebecca was screaming her head off for only ten minutes straight, your mom shouting at her to stop screaming… And then your uncle comes in with the fire extinguisher, shot it all over the poor thing. Can’t believe you just stood there.”

 

“Please,” Bucky looked Steve straight in his eyes, “You were right there next to me, doing the same amount of nothing.”

 

Steve smirked and returned Bucky’s stare, “Wasn’t taking pictures at least.”

 

“But you weren’t helping either,” he retorted, causing Steve to look away in shame.

 

“Not much help to offer anyways to a burning turkey. Your Uncle got it covered,” Steve glanced from picture to picture, accidently ghosting Bucky’s hand, his throat tightening in response, as he held another photo up — It was Fourth of July and they’d been at his cousin’s house. They held sparklers, smiles twinkling just as bright, hands interlocked. Steve had been hunched over, arm outstretched as he tried his best to not actually burn Bucky. “Always liked going to your cousin’s’ place. Their dog was pretty cool… Probably the best part about going over there.”

 

“You saying you liked Cosmo more than me?” Bucky teased.

 

“Not you, just your cousins,” Steve wore a familiar smirk. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

 

Bucky replied with an absent minded, “Uh-huh,” shuffling around deeper into the box.

 

”Why are all these photos of just me? Don’t you have any other friends?”

 

His hand stops. “No,” Bucky says without looking up.

 

“Buck, I was just asking. You don’t havta— “

 

“Look!” Bucky abruptly cut him off, pulling out a loose disc from the box, shaking it in his hand. “D’you know what this is?”

  
“Do I want to..?” Steve looked at him questioningly, brows lowering ever so slowly.

 

Quickly standing up, Bucky tossed the box on the couch cushion and fed the disc through the still-unpacked DVD player while Steve looked on in uneasy anticipation; his face drained of color when the realization washed over him as soon as the screen read _The Steven and James Show!_ In bold, lime green lettering.

 

The title faded out. Steve sat at his old worn down, wooden desk with his fishnet stocking covered legs crossed over each other, chin placed in the palm of his hand. Loosely dangling the receiver from their landline phone with his other hand, his crudely red painted lips parted. “ _Hello, Ghost Busters,”_ he spoke in a forced, high pitch voice, shiny black wig bouncing as he turned his head. “ _There appears to be a ghost in my house!”_

 

Bucky, kneeling on the floor in front of the television, craned his neck, glancing over his shoulder at Steve’s utterly horrified look, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head.

 

Jumping into frame is a young Bucky, fighting against his oversized beige jumpsuit to brandish the Rogers’ family vacuum cleaner hose attached to the makeshift proton pack on his back. “ _Ghostbustas, whaddya want?!”_ the small Dr. Venkman squeaks.

 

“ _A ghost, a ghost!”_ Steve exclaimed, knocking the camera lens as he pointed off in the distance, muttering a faint _“shit”_ under his breath. “ _Get rid of that foul thing, it’s scarin’ all our guests away!”_

 

The camera tilt-a-whirls upwards to land on the little Ghostbuster who yells _“I’ll get that ugly spud, m’am!”_

 

The video abruptly cuts to Steve, obviously standing on top of his unmade bed to appear taller, wearing a white trash bag with holes cut out for his arms and head, every inch of it coated with glued-on marshmallows varying in sizes. As he let out his best, most manly roar, the Ghostbusters theme being hummed could be heard from behind the camera.

 

“Bucky, I can’t…” Steve’s hand was pressed to his forehead, eyes looking damp and distressed. He slid onto the floor, crawling on his knees over to Bucky, scrambling to reach the eject button.

 

To his dismay, Bucky quickly wrapped his arms around Steve’s torso, grinning wide, resting his chin on the adult Stay Puft Marshmallow Man’s shoulder. He relished his friend’s embarrassment, happy to get payback for the awful teenhood photo Steve discovered earlier. “No way, this is just getting good!” Bucky exclaimed as he briskly rubbed Steve’s arm in excitement, still holding him tightly.

 

“No, it’s really not,” Steve protested, whimpering, body relaxing into Bucky’s in defeat.

 

Watching their childhood antics on straight-to-video for a short while in utter glee, for a brief moment, Bucky caught himself ogling at Steve in silence. “Actually, speaking of Stay Puft...I oughta pack some food for the road tomorrow.” Releasing him, Bucky heads to the kitchen, snapping up an empty box on the way.

 

“Just no marshmallows, _please_ ,” Steve’s tone was borderline begging, but Bucky ignored his pleas, humming a familiar theme while opening and closing different cabinets.

 

“I can HEAR that!” Steve shouted, floorboards from the other room creaking.

 

Bucky inevitably hummed louder, even more delighted hearing Steve’s exasperated groan. “Speaking of — have you heard of the new Ghostbusters movie coming out, Steve? We oughta go see it when I come to visit!”

 

“Didn’t know they were making another one,” Steve sighed. “I guess if you want to, Buck. Been awhile since we’ve gone to the movies together. What was the last thing we saw again?”

 

Quietly racking his mind, Bucky yells back, “Oh, yeah! It was at the drive-in upstate, remember? There was that two day Sci-Fi fest, went camping with all the nerds. We saw Bladerunner. Right after was that, uh, that snowy flick.”

 

“That was fun. I remember a guy had brought his telescope and you _begged_ him to let you use it. Thank God he was a nice fella and didn’t just tell you off,” Bucky snickered. “Oh, the one with that thing in it or something, right?”

 

“Yeah, that thing would just turn into other people. Wild shit,” he laughed to himself, snatching something out of a drawer as leaned out from the door frame, shaking a flattened bag of marshmallows at Steve.

 

“Yeah, that thing…” Steve looked up at him, lowering a faded letter to his lap, face falling flat. “I hate you.”

 

He tossed the bag into a cardboard box, muttering, “No you don’t.”

 

“No, I don’t.” That brought a smile back to Bucky’s face.

 

Bucky heard the distant sound of keys jingling, his ears perking. “Aw, Stevie, you’re not leaving me, are you?” he teased.

 

“ _No._ Nothing would get done if I left,” his voice trailed off.

 

Busying himself, Bucky asked curiously, “Whaddya doin’ in there?”

 

“Jacking off. Don’t come in here.”

 

“Wow, man, they don’t let you do that at NYU?” His light-hearted snicker was instantly cut short at the sound of peeling duct tape, raising every hair on his body, his stomach dropping. Walking on the tips of his toes, he grasped the door frame, leaning out ever so slightly to watch Steve. He was carefully opening a nearly overflowing folder, black in color.

 

With the duct tape sliced into, an enclosed packet of polaroids fell out, smudged writing scribbled across plastic packaging. He could hear the shift in Steve’s breathing, almost like a breathlessness. He worked the packet open, sliding out each polaroid one by one — their junior year of high school, they bought a gently used FujiFilm Instax from a family owned photography shop, saving up for the thing for a couple of months. They made a promise, to haul that thing with them everywhere they went so they’d never miss capturing a moment spent together. That camera was used until it was near malfunction, brought on field trips, weekend getaways, to local concerts, their prom; everywhere.

 

That packet was full of photos Bucky’d stashed away— prospect park, Steve lain across Bucky’s chest with his arms folded, kissing him for the camera; Rockefeller Plaza, bundled in their coordinated winter wear, Bucky kissing Steve on the cheek; The New York aquarium, Bucky’s arms were wrapped around Steve’s chest, his free hand cupped over Bucky’s.

 

His throat grew dry, hands shaking. He suddenly dropped a 6-pack of Cherry Cokes with a loud silvery crash, whispering, “Fuck.”

 

Steve’s head whipped back. “God, Buck. You know I have a heart condition,” Tears were running down Steve’s splotchy pink cheeks. “Why do you have these James?” he cried out, and that pulled at Bucky’s heart.

 

Through a sharp inhale, he croaked, “I...forgot they were still there.”

 

Steve shook his head, pushing the photos from his lap, all the letters and drawings, onto the couch. He stood, ambling over to Bucky. “You’re lying.”

 

“Look, I couldn’t just let those memories go,” he says with a sigh, averting his eyes. “You’re my best pal and there’s nobody that can replace you,” Bucky finally reciprocated the stare. “Y’know...as a friend, or otherwise.”

 

Steve put his fist to his mouth, choking on his words. “I don’t want you to— Why the hell are you— _Please_ don’t fucking leave me Bucky.” He stated.

 

Unable to look at his face any longer, Bucky brought him into an embrace, burying his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, breathing in softly. “You know why,” his words muffled, vibrating against his skin, “and it won’t be forever. Promise.”

 

“I know, but,” his voice cracked, “I’m terrified to live without you. Doesn’t matter how long it is. I really am.” Steve’s body was trembling. He could feel his hands resting around around his waist.

 

“C’mon, you big baby.” Bucky lifted his head, smiling weakly. “We can still watch bad movies together every day, and I’ll write ya all the time.” Cupping Steve’s face in his palm, Bucky gingerly rubbed his thumb across his faint stubble.

 

Steve glanced to the side, his front teeth exposed as he smiled. He looked Bucky directly in the eyes, touching their noses together. “Can we have sleepovers on Skype too, and make pillow forts?”

 

“Whatever, marshmallow boy,” Steve pinched his side, “Speaking of sleepovers, you oughta stay here tonight, it’s kinda late.”

 

Steve nodded his head along with Bucky’s words, half-heartedly laughing.“You’re still,” Steve’s eyes glanced around the room, “not packed, at all. We should probably start doing that sometime soon, unless you wanna do it _after_ you leave.”

 

Breaking away from Steve, Bucky looked around at the cluttered floor with a groan, ambling across the room to collapse onto the couch. “Yeah, yeah, gimme a minute,” he whined, rolling over comfortably onto his back.

 

Steve rolled his eyes, following suit, shimmying on top of Bucky. He tucked his head under Bucky’s chin. “Okay, fine. But you just get one.”

 

Bucky wriggled underneath him in mock-annoyance. “Ugh, _Steve_ , get offa me,” he grumbled, shoving him onto the floor with a loud thump, Steve yelping. “Help me then, you idiot.”

 

Steve sat on his knees, started tugging on his arm, attempting his best to pull him off the couch, failing miserably, Bucky sneering at him. “So get _upppp_. What room needs the most help?”

 

Propping himself on one elbow, Bucky answered shyly, “...The bedroom, I guess.”

 

“Do you have _any_ of it packed yet? Or I guess the easier question would be, what _do_ you have packed?”

 

“Uh…” He lies back on the couch in contemplation, counting on his fingers. “Some winter clothes, the World War II collection, my records, Bucky bear…”

 

“Your Bucky bear… You still have that thing, huh?”

 

“Sure. I kept all those photos too, didn’t I?” he states dully.

 

Steve didn’t make a comment, only patted his thigh appreciatively.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Bucky!” A voice carried throughout the loft apartment, followed by a series of heavy pounding knocks on the front door. The obnoxious doorbell was pressed, held down for a long ten seconds, before being pressed again on repeat.

 

Bucky woke with a panicked start, gently slipping out from underneath Steve’s arm to answer the door before it could wake his slumbering guest. He squinted from the golden morning light starting to fill the apartment.

 

“Bucky, you better be packed.” He could tell in an instant whose voice that belonged to. “Anyone home?” the banging continued.

 

Fumbling to find the door knob through a yawn and half-closed eyes, he opened it, immediately attempting to stifle the source of the noise with an outstretched arm.

 

“Long time no see! Glad to see you haven’t changed a bit,” Rebecca mumbled through his fingers, pulling down his hand. “Ma sends her best regards. She can’t wait to see you. Everyone can’t.”

 

A sleepy smile appeared on his face as he wrapped an arm around his younger sister to quickly bring her inside. “I missed you guys too, but please” — he jabs one thumb towards the couch — “stop talkin’. We’ve been packing all night. It’s great to see you…” his voice trailed, noticing her jaw dropping as she stared at the couch.

 

“Is that Steve?” she whispered, her voice hitching. Knowing what’s coming, Bucky grimaced and dropped his arm. “Yeah. Please, don’t…”

 

She hit his chest, throwing her arms in the air, exasperated. “You never tell me anything! You two get back together and no one’s said anything? Oh, ma will be so excited about this, you know she loves Steve. He’s always been part of our family,” she reached into her faux leather purse, strapped over her shoulder, pulling out her phone. “I better call ma right now, let her know I’m here and the good ne—”

 

“No!” he yelled, clasping his hand over hers, checking the couch again as Steve slowly started to stir awake, “No,” he repeated, soft, his efforts futile. “We’re not togeth — we can tell her later, Beck.”

 

“Oh, I guess it can wait...” Rebecca looked confused as she glanced back at the couch, peering over to the coffee table, covered in empty Chinese food containers and photos, nodding her head in that direction. “What’s all that?”

 

“He’s just helping me out,” Bucky lied through his teeth, obviously so, hurrying to clear yesterday’s trash. “Morning, sunshine,” he smirked at Steve, shoving the polaroids into the battered photobox.

 

“Hrrmm,” Steve mumbled, waving his fingers in Bucky’s direction.

 

Rebecca, still looking visibly baffled, couldn’t help but smile, nudging Bucky with her shoulder. “I’m gonna go take a few of these boxes out to the van. Movers should be here sometime before noon, okay?”

 

Giving his sister a playful glare, he muttered, “Thanks, Beck”, before plopping down next to Steve.

 

Steve’s eyes fluttered open, bloodshot but looking bluer than ever. He scooted further down the couch, laying his legs across Bucky’s lap, stretching his socked feet. “Your sister’s so damn loud.”

 

“Kinda like your snoring,” he replied lazily, dodging the pillow thrown at his face. “Let’s get all of this stuff outta here.”

 

“You’re so rude sometimes,” Steve flailed his arms, nails digging into the navy blue corduroy back cushions, pulling himself up.

 

Some time had passed, the three working together to empty the house of its box-y state, not without bickering and tomfoolery however. It was nearly twelve o’ clock and the movers had just arrived, pulling up in front of his complex, buzzing his apartment. Bucky left to greet them— two brothers, one with tied back blond hair and the other, untamed ebony locks— putting a stone door stop in front of the gate. He took them to the loft, making sure the door stayed unlocked, leaving his key on top of the wall-hanging mailbox. He thanked them once more, taking in his surroundings one last time. It was going to be weird for him, to not live in New York after being there most of his life, going back to state he was born in.

 

He walked back over to the UHaul van, looking between Steve and his sister.

 

“Hey, Bucky, guess what? You’re taking us to Denny’s for lunch!” Rebecca squealed with excitement, grabbing Bucky’s hand.

 

“Surprise!” Steve chimed in.

 

Exasperated, Bucky lets himself be dragged by his sister and Steve, one with either hand, down the street to the restaurant he spent so many late night outings at before. The wait was short as they stood only a couple of minutes before being taken to a booth in the back, the place unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon. Menus were set down in front of them, accompanied by matching sets of silverware.

 

“Can I start y’all off with something to drink?” the waitress, a redhead, asked warmly in a thick Southern accent.

 

“Can I just get water, without ice, please?” Rebecca asked, their server nodding, scribbling down on her notepad.

 

“And for you, hun?” she smiled at Steve, Bucky watching as he nervously fumbled over his words.

 

“Can I uh, get a… Cherry Coke?” Steve asked, her response being, “Sorry hun, the machine’s busted right now.”

 

Steve nodded, biting his bottom lip. “Can I get a chocolate milkshake then?” he guessed.

 

“No problem,” she faced Bucky.

 

“Just a coffee‘s fine,” Bucky ran a hand through his hair, adding, “and can I get sugar? Ten packs of it.” He heard Steve snort as their waitress turned on her heel, walking back into the kitchen. “The hell you laughing at me for? I’m fuckin’ tired. Gotta be driving all day, don’t wanna crash into a building or some shit.”

 

“Bucky, language!” Rebecca scolded, waving her finger at him.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, smiling. He turned to Steve sitting beside him, “You gonna let me have some of that milkshake?”

 

“If you’re buying,” he grinned devilishly, nudging Bucky’s knee with his own knobbly one underneath the table.

 

Bucky gave Steve’s cheek a pinch, amused, until he caught his sister staring, face in her hands.

 

“It’s just so nice to see you guys back together, again,” she said enthusiastically, eyes jumping back and forth, between the two of them.

 

Feeling Steve’s wide-eyed stare, Bucky’s mouth formed into a thin line, stuck between not wanting to tell Rebecca that she’s wrong and desperately wanting her to be right. The tension between him and Steve was thick enough to cut with a knife.

 

“We are..?” Steve voiced, meek, timidly poking Bucky.

 

Eyes darting between them, landing on Steve, he mutters, “Y-yeah, it is nice— “

 

“You had the coffee, right dear?” the waitress, back to interrupt, sets the mug and three sugar packets down with a clunk and a patter in front of Bucky, followed by the milkshake and glass of water among them. “Now,” she whips out a pen and paper pad, “What’ll y’all be having to eat?”

 

She smiles patiently at the table, awaiting their answers, but the silence drags on until Rebecca gives them a perplexed look. “Um, I’ll have the quarter pounder burger and fries,” she replies, the moments ticking on. Bucky jerks his head up and blurts, “Sandwich.”

 

The waitress jots down their orders on her paper. “Any sandwich in particular?” Bucky glanced to his sister, forced a contorted smile, and ordered, “Whatever she’s having.”

 

“And for you?” she nodded at Steve. Steve’s chest puffed as he took in a long, shaky breath. “I’m good, thanks.”

 

“You sure, honey?”

 

Bucky interjected, “Strawberry pancakes for him with extra whipped cream, please.” The waitress closed her notepad with a flourish and disappeared down the dining room.

 

Rebecca beams, trying to brighten the mood, swishing her straw around through her water. “Still gotta call mom sometime later today. She’s gonna be so happy, Bucky.” Bucky could see the distress on Steve’s face, knew it was mimicked back on his own. He focused on the genuine, blinding smile his sister wore.

 

Steve kicked his foot under the table, sliding the milkshake closer to him. “You still want some of this?” he asked, voice cracking mid-sentence.

 

“Right, yeah…” Bucky scooped a spoonful of milkshake and drowned it in his own coffee, unaware of his current reality.

 

“Gross,” Steve scrunched his nose.

 

“You’ve created worse,” a hint of a smile appeared back on Bucky’s face.

 

“Yeah, like what?” Steve crossed his arms.

 

“Peanut Butter and pickle sandwich,” Bucky sipped his ‘gross’ cooling coffee.

 

Steve rolled his tongue in his mouth. “That was legitimately good. Was offering to let you try it but you just told me I’d ‘created sin’.”

 

After taking a sip of her water, Rebecca slapped both her hands flat down on the table. “So, Steve!”

 

Bucky choked on his coffee, metal spoon spinning rapidly around the inside of the cup. Steve looked at him, doe eyed, fingers drumming on the table with nervous energy.

 

“Oh my God, did I scare you? Are you choking, like for real?” Rebecca reached across the table, rubbing Bucky’s forearm.

 

Tears filled Bucky’s eyes as he stifled his cough, despite the pain, as the waitress was fast approaching with their orders.

 

“Quarter pounder burger with fries for you both,” the busy waitress slid both plates down, carefully, on the table. “And strawberry pancakes for you,” she leaned across Bucky, putting the plate in front of Steve with a wink, leaving to serve another table.

 

“So, Steve… What’ve you been up to? I don’t think I’ve seen you since, what?” She looked at Bucky. “Last Easter?”

 

“I’m, uh,” he gulped, pulled back into the moment, “Going to NYU this fall.”

 

“You got a scholarship for their art program, right?”

 

“Yeah...um,” Steve stared down at his red-soaked pancakes, “I’ll be right back.”

 

Bucky slid out of the booth, letting him pass by, not without stopping him first, wrapping his hand around his bicep. “You okay? For real.”

 

“Fine, I’m fine,” he answered short, pain and confusion muddling his eyes as he walked briskly to the restroom.

 

“What was that about?” Rebecca’s focus shifted, from watching Steve exit quickly to Bucky, still standing. “It wasn’t something _I_ said, was it?”

 

Bucky slid back into the booth, “Nah, Beck, you’ve been great,” he says as he over-stirs his coffee and sugar.

 

“You sure? Both of you look,” she shrugged, “I don’t know, like a train hit you. Has it not been going well between you guys?”

 

“Honestly, Rebecca…,” Bucky looked toward the bathroom and back again, thinking carefully. “No. But we’ll make it out alive. We always do somehow.”

 

“Oh Bucky,” she looked down at the carpet, frowning. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d known,” she looked at him, glancing down at the coffee he was still stirring. “You two were always so happy around each other. Really, that’s the first, probably only time, I’ve ever seen true love.”

 

With a lump in his throat, Bucky stared past her face. “I’m gonna check on ‘em,” he told her as he dropped the spoon in the mug and slid out of the booth; Rebecca nodded, understanding.

 

Bucky pushed past the men’s room entrance, overhead lights flickering unnervingly. Bucky scanned past the stalls, all open but one. He leaned his body against the middle door, pressing his ear against it. Sniffles, all too loud in the uncomfortably quiet space.

 

Bucky whispered softly, “Hey, Steve…” the sniffles forced to a stop, Bucky continued: “I couldn’t break her heart, not here. Not right now.”

 

“So you just break mine instead? Figures. Because that’s what you’re use to doing, right?”

 

Bucky’s chest clenched, “You don’t get it, Steve— “ his words were cut off by the unlatching of the stall’s door lock, a sliver of Steve’s face appearing through a crack in the opening, flushed with nervous anger, stumbling over words that were flowing out faster than he could comprehend.

 

“No, I really don’t! It’s like one minute we’re talking about living together and having a life and getting married, and then it’s all ‘ _Oh no, I can’t do this anymore Steve_ ’ when things get too real for you. And then it just starts all over again. And over and over and over again. If you really don’t want to be with me, then why would you tell her that? Why lie about it when we could have the real thing?”

 

“I’ve told you a million times before.” Bucky’s expression softened, seeing Steve’s face scrunched up in pain, “I’m _not_ ready,” he muttered guiltily. Steve pushed opened the door fully, Bucky taking a step back.

 

“What are we, James? Don’t you dare fucking lie to me right now,” he asked firmly.

 

“You’re my best bud,” Bucky whispered, “I’m gonna be with you ‘til the end of the line, remember? That’s what we always said.”

 

“Do you love me?” Steve spoke a decibel above a hush.

 

After a long moment, throat dry, Bucky replied hoarsely. “That’s _why_ I’m not ready.”

 

Apprehensively, Steve took baby steps towards Bucky, his hands trembling as he took Bucky’s into his own. Legs feeling like they were weighted down by sand, Bucky slouched to level with Steve, Steve’s breath hot against his exposed skin. Steve was locked into his eyes, looking between them, like he was trying to study him. It was almost like he was laughing as he huffed out a breathy sentence, “I wish I could just kiss you.”

 

Bucky’s grip loosened; “Maybe being apart for a while will help sort all this shit out,” he let go of Steve’s hands.

 

Steve’s expression hardened. Without saying another word, he left the bathroom, leaving Bucky to stand alone with his thoughts.

 

He turned to face the mirror, slamming a fist on the ceramic sink, immediately cringing at the sharp pain, droplets of blood trickling down his knuckles. He wiped his hand on his pant leg. He shook the tingling sensation from his hand, running his throbbing fingers through his hair.

 

Emerging through the bathroom door, he approached the booth again to catch Rebecca already starting in on Steve’s pancakes, scooping out the remaining whipped cream. Distracting his attention, he spotted Steve outside the window, pacing, biting his nails

 

Eyeing Bucky’s bloody hand, Rebecca said alarmed, through a mouthful of food, “Bwucky? Whassat?!” she swallowed hard, “What happened in there?”

 

“S’nothing, Beck. Just skinned my hand. Nothing happened,” he motioned a hand towards the pancakes, “The hell are you doing?”

 

She gestured vaguely across the table, “It was getting cold...is everything okay, Bucky?”

 

He sat on the edge of the booth, massaging the temples of his forehead. “Don’t know how to answer that right now, try again tomorrow.”

 

Rebecca crinkled her brows at him. “Since neither of you are hungry, apparently, I’m going to grab Steve,” she says, dropping her fork back onto Steve’s plate. “He ran through here a couple minutes ago looking like he was gonna hurl. Said he needed fresh air. ”

 

Bucky took one last swig of his now cold, bitterly sweet, coffee. “Just meet me up front, okay? Gonna go pay for _your_ meals.” They both slid out of the booth, parting ways before the exit.

 

Bucky walked up to the counter, pulling his wallet out from his back pocket, stroking his thumb down the side of it.

 

“Hi there, how was everything?” the checkout cashier greeted him with a practiced smile.

 

“It was”— Bucky looked over his shoulder, hearing the gust of air coming through the opening doors. Steve’s face had fallen, smile no longer being forced— “fine, thanks.” He looked back at the man behind the register, handing him his card.

 

Bucky felt Steve’s presence behind him, avoiding the itch to peer back over his shoulder again to face him. As he was handed back his card, Steve reached around him, snatching his wallet from his hands. “Just why?” Steve’s voice was kept level.

 

“The hell’s the problem now?” Bucky pivoted, Steve holding the old prom photo between two fingers. He cocked his head up at Bucky, “Can’t you make up your God damn mind?”

 

Bucky’s licked his dry lips, noticing the cashier loitering at the counter, watching. “Can’t we do this later?” Bucky hissed, embarrassed.

 

“Why? You don’t want anyone to see how fucked up we are?” Steve raised his voice, adjusting the photo between his hands. “There’s nothing between us anyways, so why does it matter!"”

 

“Steve, don’t. Please,” he watches Steve’s hands quivering as he grips the worn photo, “That’s my favorite.”

 

There were tears building up in the corners of Steve’s eyes again, “I just don’t care anymore.” Bucky flinched as he tore the polaroid in half, tossing the two pieces at his feet. He looked in Rebecca’s direction, “Great to see you again,” he looked at Bucky, “Have a safe trip. Call me when you get there, or not. Doesn’t make a difference.” He walked back out the front entrance, stopping momentarily, “We gotta fix our line.” He pressed his phone to his ear, leaving.

 

Rebecca had gasped, putting her arms around Bucky’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, James. I don’t— Are you okay?”

 

Too hurt to stay angry at himself, Bucky shook her off to pluck the pieces off the carpet, stuffing them into his wallet and shoving it into his back pocket unceremoniously. With a flat “Let’s go,” he pushed open the doors. He avoided Steve who was avoiding him, could hear him asking Natasha to come pick him up, and led Rebecca back down the street, both unusually silent.

 

Lifting the sliding door of the smaller-sized UHaul truck, still parked in the street, he snatched an abandoned roll of tape from between two boxes. Grabbing his wallet again, he took out the torn photo, ignoring Rebecca’s stare. Ripping off a short piece with his teeth, he bound their smiling faces back together, smoothing it over with a short rub of his thumb before sliding the photo gently back over his drivers’ license.

 

“Ready to go?” he looks at Rebecca, pulling the door back down, securing it by tightening the lock. She nods, clutching the strap of her purse, as Bucky claps a hand on her shoulder on his way to the driver’s side, slamming the door. He hunched forward, burying his face in his hands.

 

He heard the passenger’s side door shut, could feel the warmth of her hand on the small of his back. “Bucky, talk to me. What’s going on? You’ve never acted this way before.”

 

Lifting his head, he reached to start the engine, eyes red. “This feels like, you know when it’s freezing outside? And you can’t breathe, cause it’s so cold, but it feels like your body’s on fire? And then you start panicking cause you don’t know how to make it back inside, start worrying that you’ve locked yourself out... This feels like that, ‘cause the person I’m fucking obsessed with—I fucked up.”

 

She watched him worryingly, sitting uncomfortably. “Bucky..."

 

Bucky rubbed his sleeve against his cheek, shaking his head. “Can still make it there by tonight if traffic ain’t too bad,” Shifting the van into drive, he looked at Rebecca, sucking in his lips. “Just don’t worry, okay? This ain’t your battle,” he gripped the steering wheel, glanced at the side mirror, and stepped on the gas. “Just my screwed up life.”

 

The road takes them past the restaurant. Steve was still outside. Bucky risked a prolonged look out of the corner of his eye to see Steve and Natasha sitting side by side on the curb, Steve deep in conversation, leaning on her.

 

Bucky could taste salt in the back of his throat, jaw shivering. He said under his breath, to only himself, " 'm really gonna miss you punk."

  
  
"What?" Rebecca turned to him.

  
  
He shook his head, dismissing her. "Didn't say anything."

 

* * *

 


	2. That Time Steve Forgave Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back and forth, right?  
> Sometimes I put you under a rainfall of my affection,  
> Rest of the time I leave you starved and dry.  
> Sometimes it's like we've been in love for years,  
> Rest of the time we're just buds, forces allied.  
> Sometimes I ignore people's' knowing looks,  
> Rest of the time, they're the only thing in my mind's eye.
> 
> We're back and forth, buddy,  
> But one thing stays the same.  
> If I had to lose one more,  
> I'd choose to keep you over and over again.

* * *

 

Though the sun had set hours ago, the pair had just managed to hit Indiana, driving through downtown Shelbyville, street lights casting long, moving shadows across the dashboard. Rebecca had drowsed off some time ago, slouched over in her seat, head resting against the passenger’s side window.

 

Easing to a stop at a particularly long red light, Bucky fiddled with the radio, trying to find a working station to give him some illusion of company. Crackling through the airwaves, the never-ending chorus of Lana Del Rey’s “Summertime Sadness” softly hummed from the speakers.

 

“Fitting,” he grumbled, taking off down the street, passing familiar buildings. He hadn’t lived in Indiana since they were tiny, but the memories were burned into his skull― his dad passed away when he was five years old, Rebecca being only a baby. The stress his mom faced was immense; every day was a constant worry of having enough, even if only for their more simpler meals. He remembered always thinking, “Spaghetti _again_?” not realizing until much later how good it was, all things considered.

 

It was in short notice that their mom had packed them up and moved them out to Brooklyn; her sister lived there with her husband and kids, offering room in their home for them. The plan was to stay with her sister for a couple of months and then find work, but his mom struggled to find anything sustainable enough. She turned to real estate, renting out their home back in Indiana for extra cash here and there.

 

That was one of the first things him and Steve had bonded over: finding out early on that his dad, too, passed away while stationed overseas. He found comfort in knowing that he understood what he was going through, that he wasn’t the only one dealing with a parent’s death.

 

Bucky loved his dad — followed him around anywhere he went like a lost puppy, always pleading to play catch or to join him in making stop motion films with his inherited GI Joe figures. The night his mother received that call, that call that had her crying on her knees, trying to delicately explain to Bucky that his dad wasn’t going to be coming home for a very long time; he remembered locking himself in his closet with a blanket thrown over his head, begging anyone who might have been listening to just let his dad come back to them.

 

At the ripe age of eighteen, Bucky moved out for the first time, anxious and doubtful. His mom and sister had been planning over the past few months to move back to Indiana, where they could live in their fifteen hundred  square foot Victorian house, as opposed to a cramped one-bedroom apartment costing them the same amount. His mom confessed, years later, to the reason being why she kept them there for so many years was because she could see how happy Bucky was for once. He had made his first real friend in Brooklyn.

 

Bucky turned down a recognizable dirt road, hitting a bump, radio station cutting out. Rebecca jostled in her seat, rubbing her eyes.

 

“Are we here yet?” she yawned, stretching her arms above her head.

 

Bucky glanced at her, breathly chuckling to himself. “Almost,” he could see his mom’s house, light shining out of every window, multiple cars parked in the driveway, including his own. He almost felt giddy at the sight, happy to finally have the thing to himself once more, having been in Rebecca’s possession since she first started to learn how to drive. “Car’s mine again, don’t know if ma told you.”

 

“Whatever. I just bum rides offa David nowadays,” she shrugged, “That thing’s a piece of crap anyhow.”

 

“Was the first car I ever bought with my own money…” he frowned, parking in the street. Cutting the engine, he angled himself to face his sister, twisting his torso. “‘bout this David guy.”

 

“Oh jeez, what? Are you gonna give him the ‘big brother’ talk? Please don’t scare him off Bucky, he’s so nice,” she pleaded, adding, “And dreamy,” as she clicked free her seat belt.

 

Bucky pointed his finger down his throat, Rebecca smacking his hand in return. “As long as he’s treatin’ you right. He ever makes you cry, may not be looking so ‘ _dreamy’_ the next day.”

 

Rebecca rolled her eyes but not without a smile. “Pretty sure he’d whoop your butt,” she grasped the door handle, “But the sentiment is appreciated. Honest.”

 

Bucky opened the door, stretching his legs for the first time in hours. He sucked down a deep breath, inhaling the cooling summer air, the sound of crickets strong that night. “You’re probably right,” he agreed, Rebecca giggling. As she stood out from the van, Bucky gestured towards their driveway. “Was ma having a party tonight or did you guys just start a used car collection?”

 

“Uh, I dunno. She didn’t say anything. Uncle Tom and Mary stop over sometimes,” she looked over her shoulder, front door flinging open.

 

“Oh my goodness, is that really my James?” an enthralled voice traveled. He could see their mom walking down the steps, hurriedly making her way over to them. With her arms outstretched, she pulled them both in for a hug, kissing Bucky’s cheek. “You’ve gotten so handsome, Jamesy. The ladies must be swooning over you. ”

 

Bucky could feel the tips of his ears burning in embarrassment. “No, just the one boy,” those words felt sour in his mouth.

 

His mom looked to Rebecca with a flabbergasted expression. “You never know what you’re going to get with this one,” she looked back at him. “Or you meant Steve. Steve?” her head whiplashed between the two of them. “He’s talking about Steve?”

 

“Bucky and Steve are back together, ma,” Bucky was again massaging his temples, just wanting to take off running, escaping from this god forsaken conversation that seemingly kept haunting him. “Or, well,” her voice softened, “were. I’m not really sure.”

 

“Beats me,” Bucky said sarcastically, guffawing, shrugging away from those two. He exhaled, unlatching the back of the van, sliding the door up. A light flickered alive. Bucky shuffled boxes around, looking for the one marked, ‘blankets’. He yanked the box free, closing the door before trudging to the porch. He could still hear his mom and sister talking, the focus of their conversation now shifted to Rebecca.

 

Shifting the weight of the box to his left side, he lifted up a leg, ready to nudge the door before it swung wide open; Dugan and Gabe greeted him cheerfully. Dugan and Gabe were long-time friends of the family, always offering help when they were in need. Dugan owned a boxing ring local to the area and he’d always let Bucky come in to practice before opening time. Bucky remembered bringing Steve there, last time he came to visit, teaching him all sorts of ridiculous moves.

 

Bucky, grip tightening on either side of the box, gave his friends a once over, half-grinning. He was exhausted, to say the least, wanting to do nothing more than have a bowl of Lucky Charms and collapse on a bed, any bed. He made a mental note to pick up Lucky Charms as soon as possible. “The hell you guys doing here?”

 

“It’s nice to see you too, Jim,” Dugan teased.

 

“Sorry,” Bucky set the box down in front of the stairs, giving them a weak hug each, “just been a long, shitty day.”

 

“It’s fine, man,” Gabe consoled. “It’s not like you’ve been driving all day or nothing.”

 

Dugan squeezed the side of his phone, sliding his finger against the screen. “How long’s that drive again?”

 

“S’like 12 hours, give or take,” Bucky felt his pocket buzz, “Why _are_ you here though? Ain’t it close to three? Thought you had a bedtime.”

 

“Your mom wanted help beautifying the place to make it fancy for you,” Bucky’s eyes traveled around the room, honing in on a fresh bouquet of marigolds. “And,” he continued, “she was just getting antsy. Invited us over for a couple of drinks, couldn’t say no to that!” Dugan remarked, “Was about to take off but then we heard you two coming. But, I’m gonna scramble for real now.”

 

Gabe added, patting Bucky on the shoulder, “I’m gonna swing back over here tomorrow to help you unload everything.”

 

“Not _too_ early,” Bucky warned, eyes slitting. Rebecca scooted past them, red duffel bag in tow. Directed towards Dugan, she said, “Ma wants to talk to you.”

 

“I’ll let you sleep in,” Gabe chortled, fishing his keys from a coat rack.

 

Crouching to again carry the box, he started upstairs, voice trailing, “G’night.” He walked down the short hallway, passing his childhood bedroom, now Rebecca’s, stopping at what used to be their family lounge room. The master bedroom had been stripped of its furniture, remaining only an air mattress, complete with brand new navy sheets and a body-length pillow.

 

Dropping the box of blankets in a corner of the room, he plucked the van key from his back pocket to clumsily rip it open, grabbing the stuffed animal from the top of pile while having ignored the blankets entirely. He collapsed on the blown up bed, face first. Vibrating from his pocket, the mattress buzzed with a violent ‘ _brr_ ’. Lazily rolling onto his side, he yanked out his phone. The blinding screen flashed an alert for two new messages, both displaying ‘Steve,’ causing his stomach to give its familiar lurch. Biting the skin of his dry, bottom lip, he tapped them open.

 

 **Stevie** \- 02:47 AM

hope you had a good trip

 

 **Stevie** \- 03:01 AM

i’m sorry

 

He tossed his phone to the, thankfully carpeted, floor, head buried deep into his pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut before he could feel that agonizing burn, nearly inhuman sounding yells muted.

Holding his breath, he blindly reached for his phone, typing back a message before he could stop himself.

 

 **Me** \- 3:13 AM

Go to bed Steve

 

Hand falling limp after pressing ‘send’, he passed out as soon as his face hit the pillow again, other hand falling loose in its hold on the Bucky Bear.

  


 

* * *

 

 

His eyes flickered open, unfiltered sun blaring through the windows. He scratched the gruff of his chin, tossing onto his back, smacking his lips. His door had been shut but he could still hear commotion coming from downstairs, the sounds of pans clashing and music playing traveling throughout the house.

 

He had fallen asleep with his phone still in his hand, Bucky bear staring up at him from the floor. Flicking at the screen, hardly awake and groggy from sleeping in, was displayed a notification for a message from Steve, last night. Bucky cursed under his breath, immediately opening the text.

 

 **Stevie** \- 3:16 AM

can i call you

 

“Goddd, fuck,” he mumbled with a heavy head, pressing ‘2’ with half-closed eyes, stuffing the phone between his ear and pillow as it rang. He reached for his bear in vain before letting his arm fall uselessly. Almost immediately, the ringing came to a halt.

 

“Did you make it home okay?” Steve’s voice was soft, sounding hoarse and strained.

 

“Yeah, fell asleep right away―”

 

“I thought you weren’t gonna answer me,” listening faintly, Bucky wished he hadn’t called so soon. “Are you okay?”

 

“Just kinda tired, buddy―”

 

“Bucky, I’m… I didn’t mean to do that. I mean, I’m just… I’m sorry,” Bucky audibly sighed at this; he thought Steve knew better than to worry about their fights ― though he’d be lying if he didn’t still have a sense of uncertainty and worry in the pit of his stomach. “Do you still like me?” Steve continued.

 

“Usually,” he laughed sleepily.

 

“No James, I’m being serious,” Steve whimpered, “I just wanna make sure we’re still in a good place. I just, I dunno. You ever think about what it would be like if we didn’t meet? ‘Cause I couldn’t sleep last night and that’s all I was thinking about, and it scared the shi―”

 

“Hey, Steve?” he grunted, pulling himself up to sit, grabbing the bear, mattress shifting awkwardly with every move. “Language.”

 

“You’re such an asshole,” Bucky could hear him chuckling through his words.

 

Smiling, eyes closed, he ran his thumb over the embroidered foot of the bear, tracing down the raised lettering of ‘JB’ and ‘SR’. “Steve. I like you. Tons. You just don’t gotta make such a scene, remember that next time.”

 

“Hoping there won’t be another time that happens.”

 

“Yeah, well. I’ll love you anyways, no matter what―” his eyes flicker open at the sound of a small gasp from the doorway where Rebecca was watching.

 

“And you know I’ll always love you,” Steve’s voice was drowned out as Rebecca blurted, “Is that Steve―”

 

“―Is that Rebecca?”

 

“Go _away!_ ” Bucky yelled, throwing the bear at his sister’s head, hurting Steve’s instead as Bucky toppled halfway onto the floor, his phone sliding across the room.

 

“Don’t throw that thing at me, it’s already falling apart! Lemme just say hi to him,” she flopped next to Bucky, screeching as she sent him flying completely off the mattress, scrambling for his phone.

 

“BUCKY,” Steve shouted. “Did she just kill you? Did I witness a murder?”

 

“It’s nothin’,” he yelled into his phone as he grabbed it, staring at the new crack across Steve’s contact photo. “ _Please_ go away,” Bucky grumbled without looking at Rebecca.

 

“But I just―”

 

He snapped his head towards her with a cold stare, expression softening as their eyes met; “I need a minute, Beck.”

 

“Okay, okay, sorry,” she shuffled back towards the hallway, “Ma made bacon and waffles, just come down before it gets cold.”

 

Bucky lowered the phone, oblivious to Steve’s worries humming through it, “The jelly ones?”

 

“Yeah, weirdo. Just for you,” she winked, throwing the bear back at Bucky, closing his door.

 

He caught the arm with his free hand, only to hear a soft _rip_ of the seam. Slouching in defeat, he raised the phone back to his ear.

 

“―I mean if you’re not going to pay attention to me, just gonna go jack off then, if you don’t mind,” Steve droned on.

 

“ _Again?_ ” a smile crept back onto his face.

 

Steve sounded like he was choking. “Oh, you’re there…”

 

“Uh-huh. Look, I gotta long day, so I’ll call you later, alright?” he gently laid Bucky Bear on the bed as he got up from the floor.

 

“Wait, Buck.”

 

“What’s the matter, Steve?”

 

“I was just wondering, if you had the time, if we could, uh,” Bucky held his breath as Steve fumbled with his words, like always, “try that Skype thing, today?”

 

He laughed, “Tonight. Promise.”

 

“Okay,” he could hear the excitement in his voice, “Bucky.”

 

“Steve.”

 

“...Nevermind. Have good, jelly waffles? The _hell_ are jelly waffles, Buck?”

 

“They’re just...y’know what, I’ll tell ya if you say what you were gonna say,” Bucky leans against the door frame, antsy for breakfast.

 

Steve breathed into the phone, “You first.”

 

“No way. I can’t just give out secrets like that, little man.”

 

Steve snorted. “Bucky, _why_. I ain’t even that little…”

 

“I could probably still carry you on my shoulders,” Bucky smiled to himself, “Tell me or no call tonight.”

 

“Okay,” Steve sighed, voice softening, “You’re my only friend too, you know.”

 

Bucky felt something between affection and pity. “Considerin’ it’s only ever been just the two of us for as long as I care to remember, that’s not much of a bad thing. Dunno where I’d be without you in my shadow all the time.” He looked at the empty room, Bucky Bear laying limply on the air mattress. “Figuratively, of course.”

 

Steve chuckled, clearing his throat, “You’re right. You’re always right.”

 

“You’re not wrong,” he laughed. “I’ll see you tonight, Stevie.”

 

“Talk to you later, Bucky,” Steve replied faint. “Wait! The jelly waf―”

 

Bucky hung up, sliding his phone back in his pocket, humming his way down the stairs, to the kitchen.

 

“Someone’s chipper this morning,” his mom was standing at the sink, scrubbing down the mess of dishes from breakfast.

 

“Just happy to not be driving anymore,” he kissed his mom on the cheek before picking up the already made plate of bacon and jelly-filled waffles, topped with fresh raspberries and whipped cream. He pulled a metal chair out from the dining room table, screeching against the hardwood flooring.

 

Rebecca peered around the corner, mug of no longer steaming coffee in hand. “And, to see us?”

 

“Sure,” Bucky stabbed the fork center into the waffles, grinning teasingly at his sister.

 

“I’ll just pretend like you’re being sincere,” she passed by Bucky, tugging on his hair in the process, setting her mug down on the counter. “I’m gonna head out. We can take the UHaul back tonight, Bucky,” she hugged their mother, gathering together her things.

 

“Hey, you still work at Starbucks?” Bucky called out to her through a full mouth.

 

“Yeah, why?” she popped her head back into the kitchen.

 

“Get me one of those iced London Fog latte things, ‘kay?”

 

She sucked in her cheeks. “I don’t get off ‘til six.”

 

“Don’t mind waiting,” he slipped his phone out, waving it at her, angling the brand new crack in her direction, “You owe me.”

 

She closed her eyes, crossing her arms, “Okay, fine.” Walking back to the front door, she said back to him, “Just don’t let me forget!”

 

He snickered. “...No promises.”

 

“That girl’s crazy,” his mom rubbed the back of his neck, pulling a chair beside him. “So, Rebecca said you and Stevie were seeing each other again. What’s going on with that?”

 

Bucky sighed, running his fingers through his hair nervously. He knew that subject was going to be brought up again. There was just no escaping it, ever. It’d been like that for years. “It’s,” he halfheartedly shrugged, “complicated, to spare you the novel.”

 

“Sweetie,” she rested her hand on his forearm, “You can talk to me about anything. It’s just so good to have you here.”

 

“It’s good to see you guys again too. I missed you, really,” Bucky felt himself smiling. “I know, ma. Just don’t really know _how_ to talk about that.”

 

“Are you both okay?” He caught himself beginning to frown at the question, sucking in his lips.

 

He nodded gingerly. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

 

“How’s that boy doing? Have you called him yet?”

 

“Yeah,” he was back to laughing, scratching his chin, “Talked to him this morning. He’s good, starting classes in a couple of weeks. I know he’s real excited about them. He’s been waiting for this since we were kids.”

 

The smile on her face begun to fade, sigh releasing, “All of you, so grown up now. Feels like just yesterday you two were making pillow forts and staying up all night reading comics,” she traced her thumb over his stubble. “You really _are_ becoming such a handsome man, much like your father.”

 

“Thanks, ma,” Bucky looked down.

 

Walking back to the counter, she pulled open the junk drawer. “Do you remember coming home from school, going on and on to your aunt about the tiny kid that wanted to be your friend?”

 

His grin grew. “Yeah, 'course I do.”

 

“You told her how you flew in like a hawk and scared all the big bullies away, how they would never mess with the either of you again. She excused herself and you ran over to me, picking up where you left off,” she rummaged through the drawer, moving things around.

 

“Ah, here it is!” She held a drawing, an edge torn and its base full of wrinkles, a stain from water bleeding the crayon in the center. Shifting in his seat, he could recognize that drawing anywhere― this was the first picture Steve had made for Bucky. He’d gone back to school the next day and the scrawny little blond ran up to him, comic book in hand. He told him he’d made this for him, as a thank you for him standing up for him. He pulled the drawing out of the book, handed it to him. Bucky thanked him, patted him on the shoulder, thanked him again. Steve had wrapped his arms around his waist, hugging him.

 

He thought the kid had maybe too much energy, maybe got excited too easily, but, Bucky would be lying if he said he didn't feel exactly the same.

 

Bucky took the picture from her, reminiscing on memories, tracing over the colors, feeling every dent left on the paper and every disfiguration in the texture. Steve had re-imagined himself as Duke, the right-hand man to the Bucky-ified version of Hawk ― “ _He’s the strongest!”_ the young Steve had squeaked when showing his best friend the drawing ― both fighting off a horde of Cobra troopers scribbled around the page.

 

“Thought I’d lost this years ago,” his breath hitched.

 

“Rebecca found it last week when she was cleaning out the family room. I know how much he means to you, sweetheart,” With a ring of the doorbell, his mom started to leave the room, “You need to bring that boy out here sometime soon, it’s been too long. Rebecca also found one of your old baby albums, he really needs to see that!”

 

Tearing his eyes from the drawing, Bucky groaned after her, “Jeez, ma, no he doesn’t…” He heard her greeting Gabe at the door.

 

Gabe stepped into the kitchen, nodding towards Bucky. “Hey man. Sleep well?”

 

Leaning against the chair, tilting it on its back legs, Bucky gave him a weak smile, “I’ve had better. How’s life been here without me?”

 

“It’s been alright, can’t complain. Definitely a lot quieter,” Bucky rolled his eyes, “Heading back to Howard pretty soon, ended up deciding to switch to German classes for the semester.”

 

The legs of the chair fall flat on the floor as Bucky stood, “Yeah? Why’s that?”

 

Gabe claps him on the shoulder, “Honestly, the girls are much cuter.”

 

He laughed awkwardly, “Whatever team you’re playing for, man.”

 

Walking out towards the rented van, they started pulling out each box one by one, plopping them onto the ground. Bucky stacked two in his arms, one medium and one large.

 

“Speaking of girls, you been seeing anyone special?” Gabe asked, gently picking up the dented, falling apart photo box.

 

Bucky strained to look past the boxes in his arms, “Uh, not exactly―” he saw the rip in the photo box widen, spilling its contents onto the pavement. Time slowed down to the speed of molasses as he watched the photos from the opened folder slide out, falling flat in front of Gabe. Polaroids of Bucky kissing Steve in a park, Bucky and Steve cheek-to-cheek on a snowy evening, Steve resting his chin on Bucky’s shoulder; he gaped at the past revealing itself.

 

Gathering the fallen Polaroids together, Gabe piled them into what remained of the box, sloppily placing it on top of Bucky’s already large stack. Hastily, he worked to hoist three small boxes into his arms, walking ahead of Bucky, back inside the house.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky dropped himself onto the air mattress, staring at the room full of boxes with an exhausted moan, wishing his real furniture would arrive already. A short look at the long but meaningless list of phone notifications (“ _Steve must be busy_ ”) left him bored. He picked himself back up, snatching a box cutter from the nearest package, easily sliding the tape apart. He peeled the flaps open, rediscovering the forgotten things he had collected over time.

 

Box after box of hoarded things, he smiled over one loosely filled with medals, ribbons, and tin rations out of date since the 1940s. He grabbed a particularly shiny medal with an unproportional version of Lenin’s face embellished onto it and naturally snapped a photo of it, snickering as he texted it to Steve.

 

 **Me** \- 06:39 PM

It’s you. :)

 

Rifling around deeper in the box excitedly, he plucked another at random, tossing it over in his hand to reveal a second Soviet medal emblazoned with a red, ribbed star on its surface, remembering the day Steve gave it to him.

 

_“Not really sure what it is, or if it’s even real, but, I know you’re into this kinda stuff.”_

 

A second check of his phone, Bucky skipped over the abolished photo box, picking another box at random. He instantly clutched the deflated bag of marshmallows, fighting the impulse to look at the cracked phone screen again. Tossing the bag back in, he heaved the box of snacks downstairs, throwing it on kitchen table, passing Rebecca as she hung up her keys.

 

“Hey, Bucky!” she swung her purse and apron onto the counter top, sleep hinting around her eyes. “Is that _all_ you brought?” Rebecca frowned at what he was unboxing: a few half-eaten bags of beef jerky, an unopened bag of Skittles, and a nearly empty tin of black tea among other non-foods.

 

He waved her off, “S’just for the ride here.”

 

Rebecca pursed her lips playfully, tapping his shoulder. “We’re gonna go grocery shopping after we take the van―” she slapped Bucky’s hand before he could protest, “―no ‘but’s about it.”

 

“Fine,” he grumbled, pushing his tongue to his cheek, raising his brows at his sister. “You get me what I asked for?”

 

She slid a foamy, beige colored beverage towards Bucky. “Yep. Remembered after all.”

 

Straw pressed to his lips, he patted Rebecca’s head, walking towards the living room; with the hum of his phone vibrating in his pocket, he immediately slipped it out for a moment―

  


**Stevie** \- 6:52PM

:-(

 

―then shoved it back in, trying to hide his smile.

 

“So,” Rebecca pulled a comb out of her bag, beginning to stroke it through her chest-length hair. Bucky leaned against the wall, stirring around the tea in his hand. He felt another buzz against his leg. “Did you guys bring everything in?”

 

He nodded, pointing up the stairs. “Took four hours but, it’s all here.”

 

“D’you wanna go take the van back now? Gonna get charged with another day if we don’t soon, I think.”

 

“Probably would be best. What time does that place close?”

 

She shrugged. “Soon, I’d guess.”

 

“And, how do you wanna do this? Want me to follow behind you in the car or something?”

 

“Sure. We’ll go to Walmart after.”

 

He gave her a long stare. “...Walmart? Thought you said grocery store.”

 

“Yeah, they’re all family owned. Most things close around seven here. It’s a small town, dummy. That’s why I wanna get going!”

 

Bucky pushed off the wall, quickly checking his phone. Steve had sent him a picture; two worn-down, black t-shirts with accompanying jeans were laid across a bed.

 

 **Stevie** \- 6:58PM

Just can’t decide what to wear for our date :-\ What do you think?

 

 **Me** \- 7:01PM

Steve, it’s Skype. No one’s gonna be looking at your clothes.

 

 **Stevie** \- 7:02PM

Still wanna look nice for you :-)

 

 **Me** \- 7:02PM

You’d look good in a garbage bag, have proof of that. Just wear whatever you want

 

 **Stevie** \- 7:03PM

Garbage bag it is!

 

 **Me** \- 7:03PM

Looking forward to it Stevie

 

Bucky glanced back at Rebecca, narrowing his eyes. “What?”

 

She took the van keys from Bucky, shaking her head. “Nothing. Just happy to see you happy is all.”

 

His screen lit up, diverting his attention.

 

 **Stevie** \- 7:05PM

<3

  


* * *

 

 

“What do you want for dinner?” Rebecca was pushing their cart down the frozen aisle, glancing side to side at every freezer section.

 

Bucky scooped up an armful of Kids Cuisine, pouring them into the, increasingly crowded, cart. “This is fine.”

 

Rebecca sighed, moving forward. “You’re a child.”

 

“I like the brownies,” he smiled at the frozen dinners he rarely had the chance to sample as a kid himself. As per habit, he clutched his phone, unlocked it, and snapped a photo of the _All-American_ penguin.

  


**Me** \- 7:29PM

Reminds me of someone...

 

Immediately, he received back a reply. Attached was a picture of a trash can, followed by:

 

 **Stevie** \- 7:29PM

Reminds me of someone too!

 

Bucky squinted at his phone, muttered under his breath (“ _The nerve_ ”), and pocketed it.

 

“What else do you want for the week?” She peered into the cart. “So far you have… Cherry Coke, frozen mashed potatoes, Lucky Charms, marshmallows, beef jerky, anddd, Kids Cuisine. You can’t possibly live off this.”

 

“Even better when you mix them all together,” he snorted at the expression on Rebecca’s face. “Aw, come on, Beck, I ain’t dead yet,” Bucky said, casually wandering off deeper into the store.

 

He strolled down the sparse toy aisle, stumbling across a thrown around G.I. Joe display. He picked up the two lone Duke and Hawk figures, angling them at the ceiling, snapping a blurry shot.

 

 **Me** \- 7:35PM

Hey, it’s us!

 

Bucky adjusted them in his hands, making them smooch each other.

 

 **Me** \- 7:36PM

Now kiss.

 

 **Stevie** \- 7:37PM

I hope someone sees you.

 

Rebecca paused outside the aisle as Bucky was snickering at his phone, balancing two toy dolls in his other hand, still unable to control his smile as he looked her way.

 

“I’m… Going to just keep going this way,” she pointed forward, “Meet me at the front when you’re… done doing whatever it is you’re doing. I don’t wanna know,” she kept pushing the cart forward.

 

Too pleased with himself to feel ashamed, he stared across the toy display; Bucky impulsively plucked a key chain from it and hurried to follow Rebecca at the store checkout lanes.

 

She looked over her shoulder, looking at his hand, “What’s that?”

 

He buried it between the bags of beef jerky, deciding he could admit at least one thing: “A present for Steve, so he won’t miss me too much.”

 

“And that’s a secret why?” She started unloading things from the cart onto the conveyor belt.

 

“I’ll tell you when you’re older, Beck,” he winked sarcastically.

 

Her mouth opened. “It’s not something gross, is it?”

 

Bucky threw the marshmallows at her, “You heard what I said.” He could see the cashier’s eyes rolling.

 

“Hey jerk, can ya maybe help me instead of just standing there?” She lined up the Kid Cuisines.

 

With a toothy grin spread across his face, he heaved the case of cherry coke on the belt. Tossing the key chain on top, he worked his way down to the bottom of the cart.

  
  


* * *

 

Laptop and headphones dangling from one arm, Bucky grabbed the fresh bag of marshmallows from one of the many shopping bags littering the kitchen counters ― “Oh, _we’ll_ put it all away, don’t worry” Rebecca called ― and hurried to the couch to flick open the sleeping computer. He ripped open the bag with his teeth and tossed one in while he stared at the Skype window, yelling a muffled “Thanks!” distractedly through the melting fluff as he plugged in and yanked the headphones over his ears.

 

The world around him was muffled as he took a deep breath and clicked ‘Call;’ its distinct ring echoed through his memories.

 

Pixelated video coming into focus, Steve sat with his fist pressed to his cheek. He was wearing a blue dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

 

Bucky’s face immediately relaxed at Steve’s dopey, but charming, smile. He spoke softly, “Hey, Steve,” mimicking his friend’s pose, Bucky rested his own face in his palm, eyes flickering across the screen to rest on blue eyes. “Nice shirt you picked out.”

 

“Felt like the others were just _too_ casual, y’know?” he fidgeted with the collar of his shirt,  “Hi Bucky.”

 

Bucky chuckled, “Oh, definitely. Way too casual for your own bedroom,” he swallowed another marshmallow.

 

“Shut up, asshole. I just wanna look nice for you. You should appreciate that,” he failed at whining, only cracking up at himself.

 

“No, no, I do!” he laughed thickly, “You look great! Really brings out your eyes, y’know. If you had chest hair, it’d totally be showing,” Bucky’s fingers covered the smile he was trying to dissipate.

 

“That hoodie really brings out the blue of your eyes too, Buck. Super hot,” Steve stuck out his tongue, “Haven’t you had that thing since high school?”

 

Bucky cleared his throat. “‘Course you’d remember…” he bit his tongue.

 

Steve scrambled around his bed, making far too much noise before he shifted back into position. He held the photo of angsty, emo teen Bucky, smirking. “‘Course I do!”

 

Bucky’s jaw fell in disbelief, “God damn it, how did―did you nick that when you were over?!”

 

Steve shrugged, putting the photo down. “Just payback,” he begun to faintly hum the ‘Ghostbusters’ tune, seemingly eyeing the marshmallows.

 

He rolled his eyes, arm falling into his lap. “How’s it over there, anyways?” Another rip out of pure condensed sugar fluff from the bag.

 

“It’s alright,” Steve was nervously biting his thumbnail, “Went to Central Park earlier with Clint and Nat, brought Lucky along. We went to get pizza after and Clint was trying to feed slices to him, started calling him ‘pizza dog’,” Bucky snorted, “Already a lot different without you, Buck.”

 

“Definitely a better companion than a dog,” he looked away, remembering Cosmo, grimacing. Bucky looked meticulously back at the live feed of Steve; he wondered if they had the same thoughts hanging in the air.

 

Steve scratched the back of his neck, leaning into his pillows. “How’s everything there? Your mom doing okay?”

 

He glances sideways towards the sounds of Rebecca and their mother sorting out the kitchen, “Yeah, y’know, fine as always. It’s lonely, though.”

 

Steve sighed, video inching closer to his face. His cheeks were already splotched red as he wet his lips, “It’s lonely without you here too.”

 

“How about―” Bucky picked up the laptop, marshmallows trickling out onto the couch, “Wanna see my room?” he rushed upstairs with Steve jostling in his hands. He kicked the door shut with his foot and balanced the laptop on his hands, waving it around the desolate, cardboard box-filled room before turning it back on himself: “Okay, it’s not much, but just wait―”

 

“―really like what you’ve done with the place, Buck. It’s so… you.”

 

Bucky’s smile fell flat, his eyes closing with a huff; he roused the laptop once more to rest on the air mattress where he finally relaxed himself next to the screen showing Steve’s amused face. “As if yours is any better.”

 

Steve swiveled his computer around, rotating him through his box-free room. His room was organized, not too much furniture in it. He knew he was only living at Natasha’s place temporarily, until he could move into his new dorm room. Turning the screen back to himself, Bucky saw a blur of himself on the wall; a framed picture next to Steve’s bed.

 

“Hey!” Bucky blurted, brows furrowed. “You can still have _that_ , but I can’t have our photo from prom?”

 

“I never said you _couldn’t_ have it.” Steve looked at him sternly.

 

Bucky cocked his head, “You made it pretty clear.”

 

“I just told you to make up your mind, idiot. Have you?”

 

“I could be convinced,” he bit his lip, staring at the screen.

 

Steve peered to the side. “...Hold on,” he pulled out his own earphones, closing the door shut. He laid down, putting them back in. “James, you need to promise me something.”

 

Bucky pulled himself out of his trance, eyes staring into Steve’s on the screen. “What’s that, Stevie?”

 

“No more of this back and forth shit. My body literally can’t handle the stress anymore. If this is another one of your goddamn booty call things, so help me. I just wanna be yours Bucky, and that’s it.”

 

Bucky fell flat back onto the mattress as the shifting air distorted himself over the screen. A glimmer of faith in himself fell through his mind; _‘This time could be different’_ his thoughts played with him.

 

“You―it’s all good―Steve,” He groaned, words apparently inaudible to Steve, met only by a very confused, “Huh?”

 

He pushed himself off the mattress to face away from the laptop and shed his old sweatshirt, tossing it over one of the boxes.

 

“The hell are you doing over there?” Steve’s voice wavered through the laptop.

 

Bucky peered over his shoulder before peeling off his t-shirt, throwing it as well, then nonchalantly rested back on the mattress. “S’almost bedtime, Steve,” he raised his eyebrows, running his fingers through his hair.

 

Steve looked down. “Are you _really_ sure about this?”

 

He leered at Steve’s skeptical eyes. “Are _you_?”

 

Steve kicked the computer to the end of the bed, loudly banging against the foot board. He propped himself up on his knees, feverishly unworking the buttons of his shirt, letting it fall behind him. He met Bucky’s eyes as he undid his belt, yanking it from his pants.

 

Bucky watched with eager eyes, exhaling gravelly through his nostrils. His heart was pounding in his chest, fingers trembling as he began to shimmy his own pants off, one leg at a time. “God. I wanna fuck you, Steve.”

  


* * *

 

 

Bucky tossed over on his temporary bed, tugging sheets closer to his bare skin. He grunted, head throbbing and skin clammy. His computer was still beside him, screen gone pitch black. Underneath his pillow, he could hear the soft ring of his phone.

 

The memories of last night slowly flooded back, wincing as his headache grew ten times stronger. He fished for his phone, eyes blinking as the screen came into focus, revealing Steve’s face. Bucky could kick himself ― Again, he was pulling the same old shit, doing what he always did to Steve. Said the things he wanted to hear just to get what he wanted in return.

 

Pulling the phone cautiously to his ear, he answered with a groggy, “Hey.”

 

He could hear the dismay in Steve’s tone as he mumbled a low, “Hey.”

 

“What’s up― Actually, what time is it?” Bucky rubbed his eyes hard, trying to see through the slit of the dark window.

 

“Almost,” he paused for a second, “seven.”

 

Bucky groaned, “What’re you waking me up this early for?”

 

“I just need to talk to you, Buck,” he said flat.

 

Exasperation and regret both tinged at Bucky; he could already guess the kind of questions Steve wanted to ask ― over and over again. Tossing over, he curled up again comfortably. “Yeah, I bet. What’s on your mind now?”

 

“I still don’t get it. Why aren’t you ready?”

 

“Afraid,” Bucky grunted. “Honestly. N’matter what you tell me, I’ll always be afraid of you jumpin’ ship.”

 

“Ironic,” Steve huffed, “Those are my same exact fears, ‘cause they keep coming true. You realize that?”

 

“I’m still here―”

 

“Not entirely.”

 

Bucky started again, “I’m still here for you. I’m your Hawk.”

 

He could hear a stifled chuckle. “I know you’re always gonna be here, and I’m always gonna be your Duke. But you can’t just keep using me anytime you get a little horny. I can’t fucking deal with it anymore, Buck. It’s breaking the only faith I had in us.”

 

“Steve...I just wanna be close. But staying close, it’s…” he trailed off, eyeing the door as it slowly creaked open, Rebecca’s eyes glimmering in the morning shadows. “G’morning!” she whispered excitedly, extending a steaming mug of milky black tea. “Want it?”

 

Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he nodded and reached his free hand outwards, “Have a good one,” he mouthed, watching her trot off, but she still carelessly left the door open a crack.

 

He took a long sip before continuing; relaxation comforted every nerve. “I’m so back and forth with you, I know that, Steve. I do it ‘cause I’m scared, and I guess...Guess I dumped all that on you instead: bein’ stingy, fickle, kinda shitty all around. I’m sorry, Stevie,” he took another sip, anxiously listening to Steve’s breaths over the line.

 

“Bucky”―there was a deep sigh―“Maybe we should just start fresh. Forget about last night, forget about these past couple’a days.” Bucky shivered, overwhelmed with remorse. “You know I’ll always forgive you, even if that makes me stupid.”

 

“Sounds okay to me, buddy,” Bucky smiled half heartedly into his drink. “Fine by me.”

 

“Hey. Can I ask you something else?”

 

“You can ask me anything, little guy,” Bucky teased.

 

“God, can we use a different nickname?” Steve scoffed, “That’s, uh, not what I was gonna ask.”

 

“Nope. Out with it.”

 

“When can you come back to visit? I mean, I know you just left. Just meant for the future, sometime. Whenever. Just curious.”

 

Bucky’s grin exposed itself through his words, “Was trying to keep it a surprise, but….I’m coming home for Christmas!”

 

Steve audibly gasped. “Really?”

 

“It’ll be a blast ― I already got ya something. But I’ll get you more. Trust me.”

 

“Just like old times, huh?”

 

“Just like old times.”

 

* * *

 


	3. That Time Bucky Found the Good Candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Am I ready for love, or maybe just a best friend?  
> Should there be a difference? Do you have instructions?  
> You say I turned out fine, I think I'm still turning out.  
> I hope you stick around, we're gonna figure it out  
> Who can I turn to now?  
> I'm a little kid, and so are you,  
> Don't you go and grow up before I do,  
> I'm a little kid with so much doubt,  
> Do you want to be there to see how I turn out?”
> 
> -“Turning out” by AJR

 

* * *

 

“Beck!” Bucky called out from the couch with a mouthful of hard candy, hand already dipping for more into the cracked pumpkin shaped candy bowl sitting on their coffee table. The doorbell was ringing for the twentieth time that night, driving his ears crazy.

 

Her hurried footsteps sounded from the kitchen; she swiped the bowl from under his hand, not before scrutinizing his beard for the twenty-first time that night. “You look so weird with that all over your chin. Why’d you do it, anyways?”

 

“It’s my costume!” he said to her, raising his hands in exasperation as she gave him a once-over before asking slowly, “And...what’re you supposed to be?”

 

Bucky pushed himself from his lying position, clearing his throat. His hand traveled under his white shirt, resting flat against his chest. Then, with a shake of his body, he thrusted his hand forward, extending his fingers. “OH GAWD,” he yelled in a pitch that would rival Sigourney Weaver’s, falling flat onto the floor, hand slipping out through the gaps between the buttons of his shirt. Convulsing, he screamed out in faux agony, making animalistic noises.

 

Expressionless, Rebecca’s shoulders fell. She turned on her heel, opening the door to a mismatched chorus of “ _Trick or treat!_ ”. He could hear her groan under her breath as she opened a brand new bag of candy, handing it out to the excited kids. Closing the door, she poured the rest of the bag into the plastic bowl. “Can you stop eating all the candy?”

 

“Nah. You know I got a thing for Nerds,” he stilled his body, watching her walk by from the floor. “The candy, I mean.”

 

“So you’re what, now? I don’t get it.”

 

“You really didn’t get it from that?” he started to spasm again, Rebecca crouching to hold down his arms, muttering ‘Okay, okay’. He looked at her, eyebrows raised. “Dallas from Alien, Beck. C’mon. It’s a classic.”

 

“Never seen it.”

 

Bucky knew he gave her a dumbfounded expression, shaking his head. “You gotta watch more than just The Notebook sometimes. Step outta your comfort zone once in awhile.”

 

Rebecca hit his arm and he yelled as she returned back to the kitchen, “Give it some respect at least!” he propped himself up on one elbow. “Jacket’s screen accurate. S’actually the one Tom Skerritt wore in the movie. Took almost two years to get it!”

 

“Good job, Bucky! Spending your money on useless movie junk!” She leaned out from the kitchen, applauding him.

 

“It’s cool looking at least…” he grumbled, hoisting himself back on the couch, admiring the professionally weathered _USCSS Nostromo_ patch on his shoulder. He pulled his computer into his lap, clicking Skype back open, greeted by Steve’s laughing face.

 

“You’re an idiot, Buck,” Steve looked up from his sketchbook, tapping a charcoal stick to his chin; Bucky decided not to tell him about the smudge it left behind.

 

“Least I dressed up. You’re just wearing another one of those dress shirts.”

 

“I am _too_ dressed up,” he frowned.

 

“As _what?_ ” Bucky said through a caramel, “A ‘erd?”

 

“Thought you liked nerds,” Steve sucked in his lips, “But, _no_. I’m supposed to be Jack, from Titanic. That’s why I’ve been sitting here sketching you.”

 

He chuckled, “Like one of your French―”

 

“DID HE SAY JACK?” Rebecca came running back in, elbowing Bucky in the face as she stretched over the couch for a better look. “Ohmygosh Steve you look so good!” She angled her phone at the screen to take a photo, arms digging into Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“See, someone that appreciates fine costumery.”

 

“Jesus,” Bucky massaged his cheek, watching as Steve shone a toothy grin for Rebecca. “Can you get the hell offa me?” She left for the kitchen again, face buried in her phone, fingers working excitedly.

 

“Hey Bucky, get the next one, okay?” she said distractedly, “We’re about to start carving pumpkins.”

 

“Fine,” he called back, eyes rolling. Another ring of the doorbell and he was shoving the laptop back onto the couch, saying, “One sec, Steve.” He pulled the bowl into the crook of one arm, greeted by a group of brightly dressed children, all yelling at once.

 

“Are you a hobo?!” one of the young boys said excitedly through a grotesque rubber mask with black tendrils for hair. Bucky dropped a few candies in his ghost-shaped bucket, looking at the tiny Predator in disbelief. “Ever watched Alien, kid? Y’know, Dallas? Ripley?” he stared at the kids’ blank expression through the eye holes, “...The lil’ orange cat on a spaceship?”

 

“Oh!” the boy finally spoke, “So you’re, like, a space hobo!” The trick-or-treaters surrounding him muttered in agreement. He could hear Steve snorting loudly in the background. Bucky gave a defeated “Happy Halloween” before closing the door and trudging back to the couch, heaving the laptop with Steve’s snickering face on it back into his lap.

 

“Hey hobo,” Steve teased, fiddling with the stick of charcoal again. “I know something that’ll make you feel better.”

 

Bucky scratched his fuzzy cheek, “Yeah? What’s that?”

 

Steve turned around his sketchbook, revealing to Bucky what he’d been working on for the past two hours. “How about that? You like it?”

 

His jaw dropped; “Holy shit, Steve. Sometimes I forget how good you are,” Bucky leaned forward, eyes tracing across the details: Drawn in charcoal was Bucky, dressed in his Dallas getup, hunched in the halls of the Nostromo. A xenomorph peaked its head from an overhead shaft, Jonesy hissing at him in response, back arched and fur sticking straight up.

 

“Now how could you forget that?”

 

“‘Cause you never show me this stuff!” Bucky could hardly suppress his smile.

 

“I mean, considering that half my books are just sketches of you, figured it would be a little weird.”

 

“Nah, that’s my favorite subject,” he relaxed back into the couch, unwrapping a strawberry candy.

 

“How do you even keep yourself upright with a head that big?”

 

“Says the kid who was convinced that he was the real Duke for two years.”

 

“Am I not?”

 

Bucky glanced over his shoulder towards the kitchen doorway where Rebecca and her friends were engrossed in the party before he faced the screen again, whispering, “You are to me.”

 

Steve’s smile grew fast, leaning against the headboard of his bed. “Fitting you picked Dallas. Think you’re pretty badass too. And, that beard… Are you gonna keep that beard? ‘Cause I think you should, Buck.”

 

He impulsively scratched the other cheek, “Sorry to disappoint, buddy, but I’m hacking this thing off tomorrow morning.”

 

“Really?” Steve sounded mildly disappointed.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes at the shrieks of laughter coming from the kitchen. “Really. I’ll call you back in a minute, Steve, I gotta do something.”

 

“What, jerk off? There’s kids out, Bucky!” Steve scolded him, waving his finger.

 

Bucky went slack jawed as his eyes glazed over before holding a fist up to his face in an obscene back-and-forth gesture, abruptly ending the call with the other hand.

 

Closing the laptop with a click, Bucky hurried upstairs to his bedroom, tearing a case off one of the pillows, unlocking his phone on the way downstairs. “Headin’ out, Beck,” he yelled towards the kitchen uselessly. Outside, he settled into his car before calling Steve again.

 

Steve’s camera shifted into focus, having switched locations, now sitting in his own living room. “You at least keeping the hair though? Or are you cutting that all off too?”

 

“It’s practically a mullet, Steve.”

 

“So? Reminds me of our highschool days,” Steve shook his head, giggling to himself, “Always liked when you wore it up.”

 

Bucky started the engine. “I’d rather forget. Hey, where’s that guy, anyways?”

 

“Guy… Oh, what, Sam? He went to this girl’s party, Wanda, I think. Nat wasn’t having one this year ‘cause it’s Lucky’s _birthday_ or whatever. He’s gonna be out all night, probably, so we have time to party ourselves,” Steve crinkled his nose, cheek resting in his palm, “Oh and, asshole, why didn’t you fucking tell me I had shit all over my face!?”

 

“Thought it suited your costume,” he grinned, whispering “ _Language_ ” before shifting into drive with the phone in his other hand.

 

“Fuck you, hypocrite,” Steve retorted. “Hey, where’re you taking us? Going out for a little Halloween stroll?”

 

“We’re gonna find the good candy.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve paused, pursing his lips. “You’re not talking about what I think you are… Are you?”

 

Bucky smiled out the window as he made a turn. “When’s the last time you’ve been trick-or-treating, Steve?”

 

“Shit, you really are,” Steve threw his head back laughing, banging against the wall with a loud thud. “Probably when we were ten or something. You really think they’re gonna give you anything?”

 

“I’m in costume, aren’t I?”

 

“Got a point there, space hobo.”

 

His smile turned into a grimace as he came to a stop at the end of a busy street, putting the car in park and turning to look at Steve’s face on the small screen. Grabbing the pillow case, Bucky hopped out of the car and panned the phone slowly around to show off the bustling, highly decorated neighborhood.

 

“Hey, hey, go to that house on the left,” Steve attempted to point in that direction, only raising his finger directly at Bucky.

 

“You’re pointing at me, stupid.”

 

“Whatever, you know which one I mean,” He said quietly, “Man, this is gonna be fun.”

 

Stuffing Steve into his jacket’s front pocket, Bucky trailed behind a group of kids chatting excitedly about the candy they accumulated as the group hurried across the next lawn, reaching to press the doorbell.

 

“Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat!” They all chanted, Bucky half chiming in. Three unnaturally blonde girls ― of which he could tell they were close to himself in age ― revealed ‘costumes’ of colorful bustiers paired with different animal ears as they swung open the door. Complimenting each kid on their own costumes, the girls handed them a sugary piece each as they departed with a small “Thank you” one-by-one. Taking notice of Bucky, that he wasn’t one of the kids dads, the woman standing center placed her hands on her hips. “The hell you think you’re doing dude. You’re like, thirty, go home.”

 

Bucky plastered a depressing look on his face, raising his pillowcase up to his chin. “Please, ma’am,” he said shakily, “‘Tis my only meal of the day…” the flicker of a smirk threatened his lips as he heard Steve’s muffled laughter from his pocket.

 

“Do you think he’s actually homeless?” The middle one whispered to the left, responding, “I don’t know! It’s hard to tell.” After nearly a minute of talking back and forth, they reluctantly gave in, dropping a few pieces into his sack.

 

“Thank ye kindly!” he croaked, shuffling across the lawn. He slipped his phone out to see Steve nearly in tears, hunched over himself, gripping the fabric of his shirt like his life depended on it.

 

“I can’t,” Steve jumped from his couch, viciously wheezing in the background. “I’m gonna fucking die ‘cause of you,” he could hear things being thrown around before Steve sat back down, taking a long puff from his inhaler, patting his chest. “Christ.”

 

“Don’t die on me, Steve,” Bucky laughed, eyeing the candy he smuggled. “I sorta need you.”

 

Taking an unsteady breath, Steve managed to get out, “Do one more, do one more.”

 

“Alright,” he put Steve back into his jacket, walking quickly to a house decorated with flashing orange lights, haphazardly placed tombstones, skeletons hanging from a tree, and an unsettling stuffed scarecrow in a chair; hay was jutting out from every crevice. Bucky glared at it as he approached the door, ringing its bell.

 

This time, an older man appears, judging Bucky’s outfit from head to toe. “What’re you s’pose to be?” he grunts. Bucky bit his lip, “These are just my clothes, sir,” he raised the pillow case again.

 

“Are you homeless or something?” the man questions him more.

 

Bucky felt halfway between laughter and failure. “...I’ve got a spaceship.”

 

The door closed in his face as the sound of childrens’ bickering and Steve’s cackling could be heard ringing through the night. Bucky ambled down the lawn, taking his phone out despite his humiliation.

 

Steve had tears streaming down his cheeks, face rivaling the color of a tomato. “We gotta― gotta get you to one of those conventions where your hard work will actually be appr―”

 

Lunging at Bucky with full force, the ‘stuffed’ scarecrow came to life with a growl, causing Bucky to let out a loud, shrill scream ― the look on his face alone left Steve sobbing, but the yell forced him to reach for the inhaler a second time.

 

With all the muscles straining in Steve’s neck, he barely managed to get out between cries, “Bucky, I just love you.”

 

Miniscule sack of candy gripped in his hand, Bucky avoided looking down at his phone again all the way back to his car. Glaring at Steve’s smug expression, he grumbled, “Love you too. Jesus, will you stop laughing at me?” before starting the engine again, red-faced the entire ride home.

 

* * *

 

 

“How’s this thing work again?”

 

Bucky sent Steve a link; they’d been trying for the past fifteen minutes to watch _Gremlins_ together, their Halloween movie of choice. Sharing on Skype didn’t work and so they turned to their last hope, a website that was a challenge in itself to operate.

 

“I just go here?” Bucky could hear the clicking of Steve’s mouse. “Hey, about Christmas. I know I keep asking but, was there anything you wanted to do around here? I know it’s annoying, I’m just really looking forward to it.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky paused thoughtfully. “Might be fun to go to the ice rink again.”

 

“Then I log in?” Steve said absentmindedly. “Oh yeah! We haven’t been there since… Well, a pretty long time.”

 

“Yep,” he bit his lip. “Maybe the diner we like, too. Y’know, the one with the jukebox.”

 

“That sounds real nice, Bucky. I know we use to go there every Friday for date night,” Steve trailed off, forcing the subject to change, “So, we’ll be watching the same thing, same time, right?”

 

“Hopefully,” Bucky plugged his headphones into the laptop.

 

“Hey, do I get to kiss you under the mistletoe this year?”

 

“Uh,” Bucky cleared his throat, “I don’t mind.”

 

“...Really?” Steve’s blank icon popped up in the corner of the room, his webcam suddenly turning on. “Oh, I think it worked!”

 

Smiling, Bucky clicked the play button on their late-night movie choice. “How’s school treatin’ you?” he hid his laughter as he noticed Steve was unknowingly broadcasting himself lazily reclined across his bed.

 

“It’s been fine. Lot of workshop hours and figure drawing. Class starts at six usually, in the morning, and some of the guys you have to sketch… Not really pleasant to the eye. There’s a lot of pretentious people in my art history class too, always talking about how their rich dad's got them into _this_ gallery opening and _that_ studio show,” Steve half chuckled, “Whatever. How’s your new job? Been going okay?”

 

“Sounds like a pain...it’s alright here. I’m doing what I love, right?” he laughed, seeing Steve smile. “Learning a lot more than I ever did as a kid at the boxing gym here at home. I can’t complain.”

 

“I’m glad, Buck. I know it was a better choice going there for all the boxing stuff. Proud of you for sticking with it.” Bucky watched as Steve pulled something in front of him, from behind his computer. It looked like a book of some sorts as he flipped it open, spending near an eternity on each page.

 

Bucky was fixated on whatever Steve was looking through; obviously, neither of them were as interested in the movie as they were with each other. “What’ve you got?” he asked softly.

 

“What?” Steve looked up, eyes widening. “Has… Has that been on the whole time?” He looked into the camera.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Well, that’s awkward.” Steve was biting back a smile. He lifted a photo album high enough for Bucky to see. “Found some older photobooks. There’s memories I don’t want to let go of either.”

 

“That so?” he smirked, “What’s your favorite one?”

 

Steve took in a light but deep breath, licking his lips. “Remember when we graduated and finally went on that road trip we’d been dreaming about since,” he shrugged, “elementary or so?”

 

“The one all the way to the west coast? Of course I do.”

 

Steve slipped a photo out of its plastic sleeve, angling it to avoid any glare from his bedside lamp. The photo was of them overlooking the Grand Canyon, their backs facing the camera, hands locked together, Steve’s head resting on Bucky’s shoulder; someone had offered to get a shot of them with the canyon in the background, but Bucky remembered just not being able to look away, the site breathtaking. “I love this one.”

 

Bucky admired the pixelated shot, able to remember the day vividly. Though fatigued from the dry heat, each stop had been better than the last; Steve’s encouraging words carried them both throughout the long trip. “Yeah, alright, I’m gonna need a copy of that one,” he said.

 

“‘Course,” Steve safely set the photo back in its casing, gently tugging another free; it was a shot of Bucky that he didn’t remember, looking past the camera with a gleam in his eyes, genuine smile playing across his lips. The walls behind him were covered in grainy, black-and-white shots of UFOs, newspaper clippings sprinkled around empty spaces. An inflatable alien peeked into the corner of the shot, hanging from the ceiling. “I love this one too. You just look so… I dunno. Content? That’s probably the right word.”

 

“Oh, man, probably ‘cause of that green, tourist-y alien cocktail...left me feeling weird all the way to the space station.”

 

Steve looked again into the camera. “You mean Area 51?”

 

“...Right,” he stiffened.

 

“Thought you were the space expert, what with your spaceship and all,” Steve was smirking, shifting to lay on his back, pulling the laptop onto his chest. “I really wanna take you to the Space Center in Houston someday. Think you’d really like it there.”

 

“Then maybe I’ll finally speak with some of my own people,” he laughed, avoiding Steve’s eyes, even though he couldn’t see Bucky’s face.

 

“The aliens, you mean?”

 

“Yeah, the aliens,” he rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

 

The chatter had quitted down, both of them seeming to give more interest to the film for a change. As silence lingered between them, Steve eventually spoke up, rolling onto his side. “Hey, Buck?”

 

“Hm?” He peered at his phone, briefly checking the time. He hadn’t realized how late it was getting.

 

“Could you, uh…” Steve glanced away, pulling a blanket up to his shoulders. “Could you also turn on your camera and just… lay with me.”

 

Bucky felt his heart jump, willing himself to ignore it. He clicked the camera icon, bottom on the screen. “Okay, Stevie.” He nodded to his words, wrapping his own blanket around his body, snuggling his head against a pillow.

 

“Thanks, Buck.” To which he said, “Anytime, Steve.”

 

They grew even quieter as the night went on, only exchanging the occasional sleepy words ( _“Still awake?” “Uh-huh.”_ ); Bucky eventually nodded off while Gizmo whirled around on screen in a pink toy car.

 

Several hours later, he woke to see that the only movement on the screen was Steve’s chest rising and falling. “Steeeeeve,” he cooed, not wanting to fall back asleep without a ‘goodnight.’

 

Steve’s lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he shook his head, rolling his shoulders. “Wasn’t asleep, ‘m here.”

 

“Of course. Goodnight, Stevie,” he coddled the pillow, staring through half-closed eyes.

 

Steve pulled his blanket around his head, looking right back at Bucky. “Goodnight Buck. Don’t let the bedbugs bite, if they,” he yawned, “have those there.”

 

“Least I don’t have fleas,” Bucky chuckled softly, his heavy eyes falling closed as he could feel himself drifting back into sleep. He tugged the back of his pillow, fingers smoothing over wrinkled cotton; he pictured Steve beside him, looking his way with a drowsy expression, his hair tousled and oversized shirt sliding off his shoulder. He’d always steal the covers from him, leaving Bucky with nothing but a corner, but he didn’t mind. His tightened his eyes, jaw tense, as he tried to imagine the warmth of his laptop as his body heat.

 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get them,” Steve’s voice served as a reminder, peeking back at the screen, that Bucky really was alone.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky was dragging his finger frantically all across the trackpad, teeth gritted as he made long, curved lines.

 

“Snowy mountain? Uh, tires. Snowman!” Steve scratched his head, his tongue pushed to the roof of his mouth, eyes narrowed. “Bucky, what the fuck are you making? Is this even a real thing?”

 

“If anyone should know, it’s you, Steve,” he snorted, clicking the blue color option before furiously scribbling with his fingertip, trying to finish the piece of art before the onscreen timer ran out. They had found an online quick-draw game after growing tired of 1980’s sci fi movies, and Steve was suffering from a severe lack of points due to Bucky’s vague and messy drawings.

 

“Are the colors supposed to help, or…” Steve squinted at the screen, smashing his keyboard, “It’s the marshmallow! Jesus Christ, Buck.”

 

The website emitted a soft _ding_ to signify Steve’s first right answer of the game; Bucky golf-clapped for him. “I’m so proud of you!”

 

“Your drawings aren’t really helping make the game any easier, you know,” Steve twirled his stylus in his fingers.

 

“What’s wrong with my drawings?” he pouted, resting his chin on one fist. “

 

"Oh, nothing,” Steve begun sketching on his tablet, “Just don’t know if anything I make will ever be as good as yours.

 

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“Probably not.” Bucky watched him drawing through the webcam for a moment before finally looking at what he was creating in the game. “Yours is already looking like a bad superhero with a tea towel for a mask.”

 

“Oh my god, you got it! That’s exactly what it is! Tea towel mask guy,” Steve peeked up at Bucky, smirking to himself. “You can get this one, it’s easy.”

 

“Hilarious,” he stuffed a fistful of chips in his mouth. “Izzit a ghost?” Bucky chewed, “Or Davy Jones, with the ‘lil ―“ he wiggled his fingers underneath his chin, “― the tentacles?”

 

Steve shook his head, back of his palm placed to his lips. “What’s the one cartoon you’d always wake up early for, every single Saturday morning?”

 

“He-Man?” he asked, confused, the crunching of chips grating through Steve’s speakers, echoing back to him.

 

“Huh, actually does look like a He-Man character. Guess they all looked the same back then,” he closed his eyes, forehead creasing, “Will you pour those in a bowl at least? And maybe not eat the microphone too? You’re giving me a headache over here.”

 

Bucky sheepishly said “Sorry” before scrunching up his face at the drawing; determined to win, he kept making guesses: “Doctor Doom? Skeletor?” each was met with a shake of Steve’s head. “Oh! The executioner, y’know, from Shrek. That idiot.”

 

“Shrek. Shrek, really? Bucky,” Steve rubbed his temples, setting his stylus down. “Look at his forehead. You were getting warmer.”

 

He squinted, “Uhh...looks like someone I don’t wanna meet ― Oh, shit! Cobra Commander!”

 

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                                                                  [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/155498135@N08/42290961120/in/dateposted-public/)

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“Bingo!” Steve raised his eyebrows at him, nodding, “Wait, you have to type it in, idiot. God, Bucky, there’s five seconds left!”

 

The laptop jostled with Bucky’s jerking movements to type it out, only causing himself to make several typos in the process as the round timed out. “Damn,” he sighed, “Mission failed.”

 

Steve sighed, throwing his head back. “That was a really good one too…”

 

“Still looks like a tea towel,” he pressed the Control and Print Screen buttons simultaneously, adding the screenshot to a folder of Steve’s sketches.

 

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” Steve laughed, adjusting his earbuds. “Oh, hey. Can I talk to you about next week?”

 

“Is Christmas already that soon?” Bucky smiled, pretending he had not been tallying the days.

 

“Yeah, time’s just really flying by,” Steve shifted on his bed, crossing his legs, “What time are you getting in again? You said midnight or something?”

 

“Just about. I’ll call you before I leave, so you can start pacing back and forth, waitin’ for me.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “I really can’t wait to see you. Feels like forever since you left.”

 

“Me neither. Can’t wait to see all those drawing books full of me,” he smirked.

 

“Yeah, that’ll be your Christmas gift,” Steve teased. “Do you know where you want to sleep? Sam’s going to see his folks in Washington, so it’s just gonna be us. Don’t really think he’d want you messing with his stuff though.”

 

Bucky bit his lip, not wanting to make his preference so obvious, “Nah, that’s a little weird...your bed looks big enough for my own side.”

 

Steve looked off to the side, lips pulling up. “It’s comfy too, so that’s a plus.”

 

“I bet,” he said, eyebrows raised.

 

“What’s that look for, huh?”

 

Bucky’s eyes wrinkled from his wide grin, “Hey, I’ve still gotta go Christmas shopping,” he eyed the keychain laying on the nightstand amid crumpled receipts and a few loose twelve inch records; the topmost read _Jukebox the Ghost_ across its bright pink label.

 

“You know you don’t have to get me anything, Buck,” Steve rolled off the bed, coming back into frame with that taupe coat he religiously wore, pulling it over his arms. He felt around the pockets, keys jingling. Looking at Bucky, he tried to hold a straight face. “Not like I got you anything.”

 

Bucky followed suit, except his choice was that old grey hooded jacket. “You always get something ridiculously sappy…” he mumbled.

 

“Well, _sorry_. All you’re getting this year is coal, m’kay?” Steve adjusted his grey beanie, swooshing his short bangs to the side.

 

Bucky stared, hands in his pockets, at every little habitual movement Steve did. Barely hearing his friend’s words, he exhaled in admiration.

 

“Hey Buck,” Steve wrapped a hand knitted scarf around his neck, tying it loosely. “I actually gotta head out, too. Need to go get something done in the studio before you come. Wanted to say something though.”

 

He tore his eyes from the colorful scarf to meet Steve’s, “What’s that?”

 

“I’m just really,” Steve looked at his phone, nervously fidgeting with it in his hands, “I know I keep sayin’ it over and over again, but I’m so excited to see you. I mean I knew you were coming back eventually but it still kinda feels like a dream,” he put his phone down, meeting Bucky’s stare. “I don’t know how I’m gonna keep my hands off you, or let you go… I don’t know what I’m saying. I’ll text you later,” he started to reach towards the keyboard.

 

“Hold on!” Bucky leaned over the laptop, watching Steve’s bright eyes. “I’m excited too, buddy. Afraid, too. Don’t know how I’ll bring myself to leave again.”

 

“Then don’t.”

 

Bucky’s jaw clenched, “I’ve gotta come home sometime.”

 

“I know, but, you’re my home, James.” Steve sucked in his cheeks.

 

There was a pause. “I’ll call you when I get back,” he stuffed his wallet in his back packet and slipped his phone from the nightstand.

 

“Okay, have fun,” Steve was verging on frowning, “Talk to you later, Buck.”

 

Bucky closed the computer, exhaling, staring at the ceiling before heading downstairs. He felt the buzz of the phone immediately.

 

 **Stevie** \- 8:12 PM

I love you, James

 

A text he would not see until the next morning, as he ignored it to grab his keys off the kitchen counter to leave.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky leaned against his car’s door, foot resting on top of a short, canvas suitcase. He pressed ‘two’ on his keypad, placing the phone to his ear. After quite a few sets of rings, Steve answered out of breath.

 

“Sorry, I was in the middle of class. Are you heading out?”

 

“Hey, little man. Yep, just about to go...you weren’t doing anything important in there, were you?”

 

Steve held back his laughter. “Actually was taking a test but I just said it was an emergency, so you’re good.”

 

“Seriously?” Bucky laughed, “Hopefully I’ll be there before midnight. Don’t wait up.”

 

“Buck, I haven’t been able to get any sleep these past few days. Definitely not gonna be able to tonight,” Steve lowered his voice, like he was trying to avoid anyone hearing him.

 

“That’ll make two of us,” he started tapping his foot, antsy to be back in New York already.

 

“You want me to make anything for dinner, or pick you up something?”

 

“...Coupla frozen dinners?”

 

“The ones with me on the front?”

 

“As long as they have the brownies.”

 

“Okay Buck,” Steve chuckled, catching his breath. “Ah shit, my professor’s walking straight towards me. I’ll text you later or something.”

 

Bucky spoke through his smile, “Thanks. Love you, Steve, see you soon,” he quickly hung up and leaned to pick up the suitcase, throwing it in the back seat and then heaving himself into the front. He scrolled through his phone, pressing _Shuffle_ on the road trip playlist he made when he was in Brooklyn. The familiar hum of a guitar echoed through the speakers; the recent hit from Coldplay, “Something Just Like This” started playing while Bucky turned the keys and smiled to himself.

 

Young into his journey and he was already leaving Indiana, crossing into Ohio territory, water peaking from the corner of his eye. He drove past a surplus of skyscrapers and office buildings, some decorated with obnoxious big red bows; the sun was warm on his face, snow glistening in the light, melting into further discolored slush. Sometimes, Bucky forgot just how relaxed he felt on the road, exploring new places and drifting about. He always hoped to travel more, but almost always, his weekend getaways would fall flat, usually due to a lack of funds.

 

Humming to himself, he mouthed along to Lady Gaga’s “Boys, Boys, Boys”, tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel. The miles dwindled down on his phone, those nervous butterflies returning to the pit of his stomach, driving him to the point of feeling sick. He took in a deep breath, glancing out the window.

 

“I spy,” he spoke to himself, “too many horses.” He scoffed under his breath; him and Steve would play that game anytime they went on the road together, usually resulting in nothing more than ‘ _I spy something green_ ’, followed by _‘A tree!’_. He kept himself occupied all the way to Pittsburgh, mentally tallying cows and red cars.

 

Stopping for a short gas refill and a few more snacks, including a Slurpee that he couldn’t resist, Bucky’s brows raised at the multi-story building across the street. Cream in color with teal accents, banners running down the sides read, “The Andy Warhol Museum”.

 

Bucky grabbed his phone from the center console, snapping a shot of the building.

 

 **Me** \- 3:54 PM

Hey, ain’t this one of your favorite artists?

 

Pulling out of the gas station, he drove around the block, searching for a parking lot of sorts. Spotting a pink sign, he pulled into the lot, stopping in a spot near the entrance, killing the engine. He rested his back into the seat, checking his phone.

 

 **Stevie** \- 4:00 PM

Yes!! I wish I were with you :-(

 

Stepping into the brisk air, he pulled his coat closer to his body, locking the door. He started walking down the street, smiling at his phone.

 

 **Me** \- 4:01PM

Want a little tour?

 

 **Stevie** \- 4:01 PM

Really??

 

Bucky pressed the _Video_ _Call_ button next to Steve’s face, to which was answered immediately by an overjoyed Steve, who was pushing a shopping cart one-handedly.

 

“Where are you right now?” Steve pulled multiple blue boxes from a freezer, loudly dropping them behind the camera.

 

“Just stopped in Pittsburgh,” he extended his arms in front of himself, turning in a circle to show the city scenery behind him. “Buying anything good over there?”

 

Steve waved a frozen dinner, tossing it with the others. “Just what you asked for, darlin’,” he leaned against the carts handle. “Looks really cold there. Is it?”

 

Bucky smiled stupidly, “ _All-American!_ ” nearly tripping over himself avoiding a fire hydrant, “It’s not so bad. Drive is kinda lonely, though.” He turned down a corner to meet the tall building, frowning briefly at the price of admission before pulling his wallet out.

 

“Yeah, well,” Steve slowly strolled forward, picking something off a shelf, “Just think that in a coupla hours, you’ll be here.”

 

“More than a couple,” he smiled, juggling phone and wallet in his hands as he elbowed the door open, the light fluctuating to adjust to the fluorescent interior. Staring at the vast open space, he let out a bewildered “Huh,” passing his cash to the front entrance attendant (“ _Enjoy the exhibits!_ ”).

 

“You know what I mean,” Steve looked at the screen, “You in the museum now?”

 

He flipped the phone around, slowly showing off the walls of paintings he was still trying to register in his mind, “Yup. Anything in particular you wanna find?”

 

Steve scratched his chin, “There’s a few different Elvis ones he did, don’t know if they have that. Look for the one with two of him.” Steve shifted the phone around, “You ever gone to an art museum by yourself, Buck?”

 

“Can’t say I have; couldn’t afford that field trip in sixth grade to the Met anyways.” Turning the phone to see Steve’s face again, he stopped at the foot of the stairs, narrowing his brows at the list of floors, organized by era. “Uh, Steve, when did he paint Elvis?”

 

“1963,” Steve pushed the cart to a corner of the store, leaning forward, “Did you know, Elvis was one of Warhol’s first live subjects. Made a twenty two piece series for a show he did in California. The pieces use to be all one canvas ‘til they were cut apart. You know, some of those go for a hundred million alone. Guess someone not too long ago bumped into one of them at a gallery. Imagine being the guy that ruins a painting worth eighty million,” Steve looked into the distance briefly, meeting Bucky’s eyes again, “He use to hang out in Manhattan, owned a place called “The Factory”.”

 

Bucky was entering the sixth floor when Steve finally finished talking, but he smiled at his phone with adoration all the same, “You’re a complete nerd, you know. Check it out,” the screen showed walls of gaudy pop art and colorful brand names; a small gasp could be heard from the phone.

 

“God Buck, that’s incredible,” Steve was frozen in place, eyes bouncing around, his mouth agape.

 

He walked over to one of the walls, staring upwards. “This one reminds me of you,” he held the phone up to a bright yellow pop art banana.

 

Steve’s eyebrows traveled upwards, as high as they possibly could. “Why? Cause I got a huge di―”

 

“Hey!” Bucky yelled in excitement, sprinting to another wall much to the annoyance of the few other guests in the room. “I found it!” he held Steve in front of a six foot tall silkscreen print of two Elvis Presley’s each brandishing a gun; he backed up slowly to get the entire picture in the shot.

 

“Oh no way!” Steve was practically shoving his face into the screen, the joy radiating from him,

“You know, back when he started doing the screen printing stuff in the sixties, a lot of people didn’t actually see it as an art form ‘cause it wasn’t fully done by hand. Pretty ironic now when you think about it,” he snorted, “The first silkscreen he did was actually the one of Marilyn Monroe.”

 

Bucky was wandering around, scrutinizing the wild prints. “He sounds pretty rebellious. I wouldn’t mind one of these in the bedroom,” he said, eyeing the screenprint of a skull: dark but still plastered with bright colors.

 

“Hey Bucky, I gotta check out real quick. Show me more in a couple minutes, okay?” Steve smiled at the camera. “...I haven’t been talking too much, have I?”

 

He raised the phone up to his face, smiling into worried blue eyes, “Shuddup, Steve. I like seeing you excited. I’m gonna wander around.”

 

“Okay,” there was pink creeping up Steve’s neck, lightly spreading across his nose. “Have fun,” The screen then went dark, Steve placing the phone inside his pants pocket.

 

Bucky meandered back down the stairs, stopping at every floor, each one confusing him more than the last. Thinking that he will have to take Steve here for his next birthday, Bucky looked around the less colorful ― but more unusual ― paintings of the second floor before peering into a small room painted entirely black. It was empty except for a dozen puffy, silver balloons. He looked back and forth over his shoulders before stepping in, the pillow-like balloons scattered airily around him with every step.

 

Bucky was soon kicking balloons left and right, jumping in the air to keep them all afloat at once, stifling such obnoxious laughter to where his abdomen ached ― he had not laughed this much since he watched _Short Circuit_ a month ago with Steve during one of their long-distance movie nights. All that could be heard from the phone in his pocket was the hollow, rapid _plunk, plunk_ of balloons and the occasional uncontrolled shriek of laughter before he reached into his pocket to check on Steve, unable to wipe the wide smile off of his face.

 

Steve raised the phone back to his face, slinging an eco tote over his shoulder. He pushed open the store’s door, wrapping his scarf further up his face. “What’s happening…” he studied the video, “You’re in a place surrounded by incredible pieces of art and you decide to go play with _balloons_ ,” Steve followed suit in laughter, “Oh Buck.”

 

“They put it here!” he kicked a huddle of balloons. “You’d be doing the _exact_ same thing if you were here, Steve.”

 

“...You’re not wrong,” Steve rolled his eyes, smirking at Bucky. “I gotta get back to the apartment and finish cleaning, Buck. Thanks for showing me all that, seriously.”

 

“Hey, happy to be of service. I’ll be there before you know it.”

 

Steve pressed his thumb to his lips, painfully obvious that he was holding back his smile from growing. “I know. Can’t wait to see you. Let me know when you’re in New York, okay?”

 

“‘Course, see you soon, Steve,” he tapped another balloon threatening to hit the floor. _Plunk._

 

* * *

 

 

Throwing a neon pink plastic bag in the passenger’s seat, Bucky turned the key, slamming the door shut. He slid out of his coat, tossing it in the back, cranking up the heat. Waiting a few moments before the car became toasty, he pulled out of the parking lot, embarking on the remaining six hours he had left of his trip.

 

Day turned to night as Bucky got closer and closer to New York, crossing over the first bridge he would need to, out of many. The distant city lights mimicked the stars; everything seemed brighter in New York, every building and store holding a long history. Snow started to come down loosely against the windshield, being wiped away instantaneously. He let out a sigh of relief and contemptment― one one hand, he was relieved to finally be done driving for the day, but mostly, the feelings came from just being back in the state he considered his real home.

 

Slowing to a near standstill while trying to merge from 34 South Street to FDR Drive, Bucky leaned back and took in the view to his left of Brooklyn from across the East River. Tapping open Spotify, he typed away, grinning to himself in satisfaction, singing openly loud to the Beastie Boys classic “No Sleep Till Brooklyn”. His body was vibrating, hands almost too jittery to get a clear photo of the skyline. He peered back at his screen, shooting a text to Steve.

 

 **Me** \- 11:39 PM

Can almost see you from here! :)

 

He threw his phone onto his lap, eventually traveling across the Brooklyn bridge. Driving around in circles for what felt like an eternity, he tracked down Steve’s apartment off of Sheepshead Bay road, snagging the only open spot left on the street. Nerves hit him as soon as he was back on his feet, hesitating for the first time that day as he unloaded the suitcase from the back seat, shoving the plastic bag into its front pocket.

 

Bucky opened the door to the near-empty lobby; paint peeled at the corners while plants littered the walls to make up for it. He nodded at the bored attendant before starting up the stairs to Steve’s floor, catching his breath every couple of floors in attempt to ease his anxiety ― their friendship was smooth sailing through their Skype hangouts, but it had been a long, long time since they touched, since he felt Steve’s taupe coat, since he ruffled his hair.

 

At last on the seventh floor, his feet pulled him down the hallway, every step echoing against the muffled music playing from the furthest most room. The closer he got, the louder the unmistakable crooning of Elvis became―

 

_“Tomorrow will be too late,_

_It's now or never,_

_My love won't wait.”_

 

―with a lump in his throat, Bucky knocked loudly on the door.

 

Record scratching to an abrupt halt ― Bucky winced ― he could hear a distant crash, followed by a closer heavy thump. Chain being pulled from its lock, the handle turned, door creaking open. Steve was timid, shyly standing halfway behind the door, grasping his right forearm. With a step forward, he breathed, “Bucky”, wrapping his arms around his neck, stretched on his tippy toes.

 

“Steve,” he replied, voice husky, leaning down to hold him around the waist. “I missed you _so_ ―” Bucky’s voice strained as he lifted Steve off his feet “― _much_ , buddy.” He let Steve back down and tousled his hair.

 

“Can’t even tell you how much I missed _you_ ,” Steve met his eyes, didn’t hesitate an ounce as he locked his lips with Bucky’s.

 

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Bucky cupped his cheek, feeling the tears running down Steve’s face.

 

“You’re really here,” Steve laughed against his skin.

 

“Said I would be, didn’t I?” He pulled Steve closer again, kissing the top of his head, lingering there.

 

“Yeah, you did,” Steve buried under Bucky’s chin, nails digging into the fabric on his back. “I feel like you’re really starting to change, James.”

 

He let out a laugh, “I feel the same as I always have, Stevie,” he said before whispering, “Did you scratch my record?”

 

“...No.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Bucky, come in,” Steve, turning around in his arms, gripped his wrist, stepping forward. He closed the door behind them, turning the lock. “Hold on, don’t move,” Steve crept over to the record player, sandwiched tightly between various books, carefully sliding the album back into its sleeve. He peered over his shoulder, forcing a grin. He carried the album back to his room, appearing a second later, taking Bucky’s hands into his own. “Okay, all good.”

 

He mocked Steve’s guilty grin with his own, “Like what you’ve done with the place. Very festive.” Bucky walked over to a green, vinyl Christmas tree, dragging Steve with him by the hand.

 

“Oh, yeah. We never got around to decorating it yet. Was hoping you’d help me out with that,” he poked a branch.

 

“We’ll go look for some things to dangle off this tomorrow ― after the diner, ice skating, and hot chocolate, ‘course.” Bucky let go of his hand to wander into the kitchen, hunched over the refrigerator, running his fingers through his hair.

 

“Sounds like a plan,” the floorboards creaked as Steve hovered behind Bucky, leaning against his back. “You’re probably starving, huh,” he reached towards the freezer, pulling out two Kids Cuisines.

 

His face lit up, exclaiming “You’re the best, Steve!” before retrieving his suitcase from beside the door. “Where’s your bed?”

 

“I know,” he nudged Bucky with his elbow, sliding the trays from their cardboard packaging. He waved behind him, gesturing towards the open bedroom. “It’s in there.”

 

He wheeled his belongings into the small bedroom. Bucky took it all in: Edison bulb string lights loosely lined the upper walls, illuminating the clutter of posters, photographs, and drawings ― some in mismatched frames, some hanging limply by tape. He smiled at the Grand Canyon photo close to the bedside, his eyes then traveling along the lower wall, cringing at the high school photo of himself Steve taunted him with a couple of months ago. Further along was a photo that made Bucky’s stomach flip for the second time: washed over with golden evening light was Steve’s old bedroom, where Bucky was lounging in the unmade bed, wearing nothing but sweat pants and Steve’s old taupe jacket. A glass bottle of cherry coke was raised to his lips while he stared into the camera with a glimmer in his eyes, premature laughter lines playing at the corners of his mouth.

 

A blue tray in either hand, Steve peeked into the room. “Food’s ready when you want it. Pulled out some of those old sketchbooks earlier if you feel like admiring yourself,” he scrunched his nose. He tilted his head, tracing where Bucky’s eyes rested. “What’re you looking at?”

 

He casually wiped one eye with the back of his palm, looking back at Steve, “A whole lot, apparently. Thanks.” he took the tray with the not-deflated brownie and sat at the edge of the bed, starting on a chicken leg.

 

Steve scooted himself next to Bucky, tucking a leg to his chest. He pushed around clumps of corn with his fork, looking like his mind was somewhere else. “You okay?”

 

Bucky was scooping a fingerful of soft brownie, avoiding Steve’s eyes, staring forward at the wall. “Show me some of those drawings,” he smiled weakly.

 

Steve leaned over, setting his meal on the nightstand. “Sure,” he patted Bucky’s knee before he stood, rifling through a stack of moleskin journals. He pulled a brown sketchbook, its cover stained with hardened acrylics and blots of gesso.

 

He settled back on the bed, leaning into Bucky’s side. Flipping open the cover, the years ‘2010-2011’ were scribbled in pencil. “Use to date all of these so I’d know when I’d finished them. Filled this one out our senior year. Here,” he set the book on Bucky’s lap.

 

Wiping his hand on his jeans, Bucky started to turn the pages slowly, feeling Steve’s breath carry down his torso. Filled to the edges were anatomy studies, various faces, all reminiscent of Bucky’s square jaw and wavy, unkempt hair; the series of Bucky figures were only interrupted by brief sketches of what looked like Cosmo panting happily and Nat’s stoic expressions. He looked down at Steve’s expectant face, “These are fantastic, bud.”

 

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve glanced back at the stack of notebooks, “You can keep it if you want. Got so many of them, not really sure what to do with them anymore,” he chuckled.

 

He snapped the book shut, going at his frozen dinner again balancing dangerously on the mattress, “I can’t wait to frame all of those drawings of Cosmo.” Bucky noticed a thin white sketchbook buried underneath the brown and black ones, and leaned down to pluck it from the stack on the floor, “What’s with this one?” he asked through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

 

Steve’s breath caught as he ripped it from his fingers, setting it behind himself. “Shit, that one wasn’t supposed to be there. It’s uh― I’m still working on it.”

 

“Aw, come on,” he leaned over Steve, taking the book with one hand and grabbing Steve’s defiant hand with the other, “Can’t be that bad,” Bucky leapt off the bed ( _“Buck, seriously”_ ),  turning open the leatherbound book, analyzing the pages with a dwindling smile.

 

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Steve.”

 

Steve buried his face in his hands, back falling flat against his mattress. Groaning, he peeked through his fingers. “Those were supposed to be a secret.”

 

Climbing onto the bed, Bucky laid next to Steve, arms outstretched in front of them with the open book featuring exclusively bare, colored sketches of Bucky in several different suggestive positions, varying between intense and soft facial expressions. He chuckled awkwardly, “You make me look good.”

 

Steve shifted closer, resting his head on Bucky’s chest― he hoped Steve couldn’t hear how rapid his heart was beating. “Just try to keep them as accurate as possible…”

 

“‘Course,” he smiled, resting the book in his lap to bundle Steve in his arms, who draped his own around Bucky’s neck.

 

“I missed this,” Steve said subdued, chest falling with an exhale of tranquility. “I missed you, everything about you.”

 

Bucky’s heart constricted as he squeezed Steve’s arm, the fears he had while walking up the stairs unraveling in front of him. “I missed you too, Steven,” he exhaled comfortably, eyes closed.

 

He sat up with a start to Steve nudging his side; Bucky had nodded off only for a few moments before Steve whispered, “Let’s get under the covers,” he smiled softly.

 

He pulled on Bucky’s arm, guiding him to the head of the bed, pulling the sheets back. Bucky slid himself under the covers, rolling onto his side, Steve curling up beside him. He threw layers of blankets over them both, sharing Bucky’s pillow.

 

Falling asleep again, Bucky curved his hands around Steve’s, immediately comforted by the company that was not just through a computer screen. He felt Steve press his lips to his forehead, saying, “Glad you’re here, Buck. Promise I won’t give you my fleas, this time.”

 

* * *

 


	4. That Time They Spent Christmas Together Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The needle tears a hole  
> The old familiar sting  
> Try to kill it all away  
> But I remember everything  
> What have I become?  
> My sweetest friend  
> Everyone I know  
> Goes away in the end”
> 
> -“Hurt” by Nine Inch Nails

 

* * *

 

Bucky tossed onto his side, eyes straining to open against the harsh morning light glaring into the bedroom. The dull shine from the still lit string lights irritated his eyes. Dragging a hand across his face groggily, he paused midway, the burning of vanilla-flavored batter assaulted his senses. He tore the bed sheets from himself, swinging his legs off the bed, half-aware of where he was as he stumbled through the doorway towards the smell.

 

Though rubbing his eyes, it was his ears that were adjusting to the repetitive surf guitar turning around within the record player. “What’re you doing…” he droned; Steve, donning a Santa themed apron, opened a waffle maker Bucky’d never seen before, smoke wafting across his smile as he turned towards Bucky’s voice.

 

“ _Come back baby, I wanna play house with you_ ,” Steve sang off-key, sliding a knife under the ‘well-done’ waffles, piling the mushy, crumbling mess onto a platter.

 

Bucky found himself sleepily behind Steve in the foggy kitchen, confused. “Whassat Steve?” he added quietly, “Please stop singing…”

 

Steve pouted over his shoulder as Bucky reached around him to stick a finger in the gooey, but crispy, mess. He took one taste before retreating to the couch across the room with a grimace.

 

“You know those jelly waffles you talked about? You still never told me what the hell they were, so,” Steve shrugged, turning on the heels of his feet, leaning against the counter. He crossed his arms against his chest, murmuring the song under his breath, “ _I wanna play house with you_.”

 

Bucky’s nose crinkled at the lingering smell of burnt breakfast, “Y’know, the jelly goes in _after_ they come out of the―” without taking his eyes off Steve’s, his mouth closed in a thin line as the stuttering “ _B-b-b-b-baby”_ tune Elvis was singing started repeating faster and faster, with jarring skips all along the way.

 

Steve took off fumbling towards the shelf, sliding clumsily on socked feet. He lifted the needle with a careful hand from its place on the record, crouching on his knees, pulling the player’s cord from the outlet with a tug. “...Did not know that, Buck. Noted.”

 

Closing his eyes with a sigh, he smiled despite himself. “Do I smell coffee, at least? Or is that in the waffles, too?”

 

“Ha ha ha.” Steve said monotone, flicking Bucky’s ear as he passed by. Reaching under the sink, he fished for the old wooden apple crate he always used as a footstool, setting it down on linoleum tile. Stepping onto it, his arm still fell an inch short of the shelf; Bucky noticed through heavy-lidded eyes the words _Calvin Klein_ peeking above grey sweatpants.

 

“Reach a little higher, buddy,” he called to a now flustering Steve. Bucky laughed as he watched the kid take a short jump to grab a ceramic mug from the cabinet’s top shelf with a soft _clink_ , nearly sliding the crate out from underneath his feet. Kicking the box aside, he set Bucky’s favorite mug down on the Keurig’s mint colored drip tray, flipping off Bucky over his shoulder. Steve avoided his stares, changing out the tiny K-cup. He waited as the machine hummed to life.

 

Carrying the nearly overflowing cup over to Bucky, he set it down on the coffee table, leaning against the armrest. “Here you go, _dear_. Would you also like the Sunday paper?”

 

“That’d be lovely, Stevie,” he said, wrapping his hands around his favorite mug that Steve kept specifically for Bucky’s visits. He brought it to his lips, the phrase _Oy Vey!_ peeking through his fingertips in colorful font printed across the white cup.

 

Steve plated together a mountain of clumped together jelly waffle pieces, adding a spritz of whip cream and a dash of sprinkles to the top. Before turning back to Bucky, he snapped up last week's New York Times. He sat next to Bucky, his legs crossed, knee resting against his thigh. He stuck the plate in front of Bucky, waving a fork around, “Dare you to take a big boy bite.”

 

“Why’re you like this?” he grabbed the fork and swirled it around in the waffles ― they looked more like a wet, crusty bruise than anything. Scooping a healthy mix of crust and jelly, he shoved it into his mouth, barely able to open it wide enough, “It’s…” he frowned at Steve, vaguely chewing, “S’terrible.”

 

Steve leaned into him, laughing deeply. “I know. It’s a disaster, just wanted to see what kinda face you’d make.”

 

“That’s mean, Steve,” he gulped. “How ‘bout we get some real food?” The plate and fork landed on the coffee table in a clatter as Bucky stood, ruffling Steve’s hair on the way up.

 

“Probably would be best,” Stifling a chuckle, Steve nodded. “Hey, you like crepes by any chance? I know you sorta have a sweet tooth.”

 

“Do I like _what?_ ” Bucky said while he slipped on his jacket.

 

“ _Crepes_ ,” Steve waltzed into his bedroom; Bucky heard drawers opening and closing, plastic clothing hangers scraping against metal, the sound of a zipper. He came over to Bucky, that familiar beanie slouched over his hair and colorful scarf clung around his neck. “Think you’ll like it, Buck. There’s a good place just a few minutes from here, called ‘Arbuz Cafe’. They _also_ have waffles, y’know.”

 

He was rocking back and forth on his heels, biting his lip to avoid smiling at the tuft of Steve’s hair sticking out at the front. “Sure, but I’ve had enough waffles today, thanks.”

 

Steve cocked his head to the side, grinning toothily. “Yeah, me too, for the rest of the year.” He grabbed his keys out of the small dish on the kitchen countertop. “You ready?”

 

“Yup,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited anxiously for Steve to open the door; the place was cozy, but Bucky was excited to explore Brooklyn with his best friend again.

 

He followed Steve down the stairs in a mood entirely different from when he first walked them yesterday. Watching Steve’s familiar jog ― shy but with an obvious destination in mind ― nostalgic relief washed over him. Leaving the downstairs lobby (Steve smiled at the receptionist as he passed) and emerging into the cold morning air, Bucky sighed in admiration at the blanket of snow over red brick buildings.

 

Lost in the sight of the city he loves, Bucky almost didn’t notice Steve link his arm with his own, Steve’s body shivering and teeth chattering. His short nails dug into the fleece of his winter jacket, leaning all his weight onto him. Bucky tilted his head to rest on Steve’s, eyes traveling upwards at the cloudy sky.

 

* * *

 

One hand on the wheel, the other holding a half-eaten crepe, Bucky was driving the two down the freshly-plowed Sheepshead Bay Road, the sun slowly coming through the winter clouds. “Kinda just a taco pancake, huh?” he mumbled through another bite ( _“Right, here, Bucky”_ ) as he abruptly merged to make a turn, ignoring the angry horn from the car he had just cut off.

 

“No, Buck… It’s not.”

 

A few minutes after more of Steve’s vague directions, they soon parked alongside the long body of water, leaving the car for Bucky to stretch his legs again after another drive, rounding the car to the passenger side.

 

Steve hopped onto the sidewalk, snow crunching under his boots. He extended his arm towards Bucky, wiggling his fingers in his direction, “Come here.”

 

Bucky’s breath was visible through the cold air as he let out a laugh; pulling a hand out from his pocket, he interlocked his cold fingers with Steve’s, pulling him to cross the street together. “Have you been here since…?” he looked back at Steve.

 

Steve shook his head, his body shivering with a short exhale. “No. Don’t really get out that much anymore, always end up trapped in the studio,” he huffed, a playful smirk dancing across his lips. “This is where― It _is_ , isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, maybe...Lots of lakes around, who knows.”

 

“It’s a _bay,_ Bucky,” Steve gave his hand a squeeze. “You know what I’m talking about,” he nudged his side, playfully puckering his lips.

 

He gripped the metal railing separating them from the bay instead, watching the boats drift by. After a moment, he faced Steve, a glimmer in his eye as he shifted closer to Steve; “Yeah, maybe.”

 

With his free hand, Steve placed it flat against Bucky’s chest, resting over his heartbeat. He licked his lips, biting his lower one. “S’first time we kissed, Buck. You use to be so romantic,” his eyes traveled down, glaring at Bucky’s stained jeans. “Don’t even bother to wash your pants anymore. That’s the least you could do, y’know?”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, landing on a steamboat across the way. “Didn’t really have the time, idiot.” His gaze finally met Steve’s as he ran a thumb over the colorful, knit scarf his friend was wearing. His mouth opened as if to say more, but instead Bucky leaned forward to steal a long kiss, pulling Steve gently by the scarf.

 

Steve’s hand traveled up the nape of Bucky’s neck, fingers curling through the roots of his brunette locks. His voice was gentle but flat. “What are you doing, Buck.”

 

He wrapped his arms around Steve, pulling him as close as possible, unable to contain his knowing smile. “Whaddya think,” he muttered before locking lips again.

 

Steve’s eyes fluttered shut, grip on his hair tightening, squeezing his hand. He breathed against his skin, “Why?”

 

“‘Cause,” Bucky smoothed his own hair, “Isn’t this place just down the street?”

 

Steve gave him a look he couldn’t decipher; his brows raised only slightly, eyes half slitted, cheeks glowing with color. He was watching Bucky. Time stretched out, feeling as if seconds were turning to hours in Steve’s gaze. Traveling through the distance, Bucky could hear a foghorn blaring, squeezing his eyes shut. Steve stepped out from his hold, tugging on his hand. “Yeah, it’s this way.”

 

Through the light showers of gentle snow, he was guided down the sidewalk to a local shop bearing red and green tinsel across its windows. “Seriously?” he said, staring at the bright colors.

 

“What, not a red and green sort of guy?”

 

He stared at the miniature train maneuvering across the oval track behind the window. “More of a blue and white kinda guy, I guess,” he mumbled as Steve gently pulled him into the store.

 

“Suppose that can be our theme this year,” Steve led him towards a wall decorated top to bottom in various single-hanging ornaments, poking a hand-painted gold star. “Little red and green never hurt anyone though.”

 

Bucky gazed at the cluttered display of various reflective shapes and baubles. He let go of Steve’s hand to pinch one in the shape of a snowflake; the glitter and glue residue covered his fingertips of which he casually wiped on Steve’s sleeve, who smiled up at him in adoration before Bucky wandered towards the bright red Hallmark display. “Oh my God, Steve, I found your girlfriend!”

 

He dangled a shiny glass ornament in front of Steve’s reddening face: The Little Mermaid was rotating from a green ribbon, tail gently hitting him on the nose.

 

“D’you still remember all the songs?” Bucky couldn’t contain his laughter at Steve, who was swatting at the miniature Ariel. “Remember when you’d act them all out―”

 

Steve gripped his hand over Bucky’s mouth, Steve’s tongue pushed to his cheek. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder; Bucky spotted an elderly couple peering at them with hidden smiles. “And you havta announce that to the whole store _why_?”

 

Bucky mumbled under his hand; “ _What?”_ Steve whispered before he finally pulled it away.

 

“‘Cause that’s what boyfriends do,” he grinned.

 

Steve looped his finger under the ribbon, hanging the ornament back on the store hook. “Uh, come again?"

 

“Y’want me to announce that, too?” he turned to pick up a plain light blue Christmas ball from the discount bin, rolling it around in his hand.

 

“Wait, wait. Bucky,” Steve gripped his shoulder, angling himself to face him. “I don’t get it, is this a joke? ‘Cause it’s not funny if it is.”

 

“No, it’s not,” he frowned at Steve’s pale eyes. “Coming back kinda made me miss all this.”

 

“Just _kinda_ , huh?” Steve sucked in his lips, his attention darting elsewhere. He looked back at Bucky with a heavy sigh, again taking his free hand into his own. “I really love you, James. But I―I don’t trust you, like, at all. This is all I want, believe me, I want this so incredibly bad… You’re going to have to show me you’re serious ‘cause I can’t lose you again. There’s no coming back from this if you pull another one of your ‘stunts’, you get that?”

 

He fell quiet for several moments, the cheerful Christmas tunes ringing annoyingly in his head; Bucky couldn’t trust himself, either, but giving up Steve entirely was still too much. “I get it,” he sighed.

 

“So, you’re _positive_ about this?” Steve pushed off his heels, trying to match Bucky’s height.

 

Bucky’s mouth curled into a smile, “One-hundred percent, little man.”

 

“Okay. I’ll take your word,” Steve kissed his cheek, chuckling to himself. “By the way, yeah. Still remember all the songs. It’s my favorite movie, afterall.”

 

As Steve turned to walk further into the store, Bucky could hear him singing quietly: “ _Look at this stuff, isn't it neat? Wouldn’t you think my collection’s complete,_ ” he spun around, a stuffed bear in his hands, “ _You want thingamabobs? I got twenty!_ ”

 

He muttered “Why are you like this…” under his breath as he followed Steve with an uneasy smile.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve pulled a long, black box out of one of the many small paper bags sprawled across the sofa. He traced his thumb over metallic, silver engraving, peeling back thin tape before popping the top off. “Gimme a hook,” he blindly reached towards Bucky, fiddling with multiple navy blue glass blown ornaments.

 

Bucky grabbed his hand and dropped one in his palm; he was sitting on the couch above Steve, unwrapping several of the ornaments they had just picked up. After the twelfth one, he eyed the three-foot-tall tree they had brought to the floor, his deep sigh the only sound in the room besides the rustling of packaging and Steve’s brand new Christmas record turning softly in the player.

 

“Bud, is all of this really gonna fit on that tree?” he gestured with a miniature snow globe in his hand, the fake snow whirling around the even smaller ferris wheel inside it.

 

Steve bent the metal end of the hook around the edge of a plastic branch, looking over his shoulder. “Probably went a little overboard,” he looked at the floor with a grimace, brown packaging and white tissue paper littered everywhere. “It’s fun though, so who cares. Can always switch them out next year.” He reached back to Bucky again with an open hand.

 

He was in the middle of opening a wooden dreidel ornament, slapping it into Steve’s hand instead. “Hey, maybe next time we can put this one out _before_ Hanukkah’s over.”

 

Steve’s lips twitched, placing the spinner top in his lap. He stretched behind him, pulling the small plastic box to his side, lacing a hook through the top of an acrylic candy cane. “Come sooner next year and we can,” with a pause, he asked, “Speaking of which, how was Hanukkah? You get to see Bertha and Uncle Bernard?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” he opened a small, copper-plated Brooklyn Bridge with a hole in the bottom. “Bubbe and Rebecca made tons of sweets every day. Really missed bacon, though. Hey, can you plug this one in?” he waved the bridge around next to Steve’s ear.

 

“Always loved Bertha’s moon cookies. Wish I could’ve gotten the chocolate half sometimes though,” Steve narrowed his eyes at Bucky, fitting the replica over a bright bulb. “I remember my mom would always beg her for the recipe, ‘course she never gave in,” Steve picked up another blue bauble, stroking over its sides. “I really miss her.”

 

They both stared at the tiny lights lining the bridge’s cables, Bucky reaching out to ruffle the back of Steve’s hair. “Me too, buddy.”

 

“I know it’s been a few years now but,” Steve turned around, legs pressed into his chest, resting his chin on his knees. “Just sucks not having anyone left,” he rolled his eyes, waving a hand. “God, sorry, that just got depressing. Uh…”

 

Bucky joined him on the floor and awkwardly tried to imitate his position before giving up, stretching his legs out instead. “You kidding?” he laughed, “You got me. You got the Barnes family on your side. We’re like Mantle and Maris. Duke and Hawk. Elvis and Priscilla.”

 

Steve snorted, “Which one’s Priscilla?”

 

“You, ‘course.”

 

“It’s _that_ obvious, huh?” He scrunched his nose, chuckling. “No I know, you guys have always been my family.. I’m sorry.” Steve seemed to hesitate before he was shifting from his position, slowly scooting himself onto Bucky’s lap, gingerly lacing his arms over his shoulders. With a cocky grin, he whispered, “You’re looking _pretty_ today. Pants are still disgusting though.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes before standing, carrying his short ‘boyfriend’ up with him, who was now laughing like a kid. “ _Alright,”_ he grunted. “Pick out something I can wear to dinner.” He hauled Steve into the bedroom, tossing him onto the still-unmade bed. Bucky unzipped his suitcase, Steve watching him dig through rolled-up sweaters and t-shirts; he noticed the bright pink plastic bag caught in the front zipper.

 

“Hey, what’s that?” Steve scuttled past Bucky, tugging the bag free before he could stop him. “Can I uh… Actually open it?”

 

“You can’t wait for Christmas?” he pursed his lips at Steve’s mockingly sad expression. “Fine...but you gotta wear it out tonight.”

 

“Okay, deal,” Steve turned the bag over in his hands, ‘The Andy Warhol Museum’ scrawled across in bold lettering. He gave Bucky one more look before sliding a shirt out, carefully unfolding it; fuschia with a pop art banana at its center, Andy Warhol’s signature printed underneath. “Well, this is gonna be an interesting night, huh? You have anything that would match?”

 

“Definitely not,” Bucky smiled. “Aren’t you gonna at least try it on?”

 

“What, right now?” Steve asked, Bucky nodding in response, gesturing a hand for him to continue. Rolling his eyes, Steve unzipped his navy hoodie, throwing it into his closet. He pulled his shirt over his head― an old band shirt he’d had since high school, picked it up at a local show with Bucky (who was now staring at him). Shoulders slumping in defeat, he slid his arms through the all too bright sleeves, biting his lip to hold back a laugh. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Buck.”

 

“It ―” he snickered, “it suits you, pal.”

 

“Why’d you pick this one?” Steve peered down at his chest, pointing to the obnoxious print. “Is it ‘cause of that? Bananas just remind you of me, huh?”

 

Bucky put a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Yeah, they’re real, uh ― looks just like it, don’t you think?” his voice cracked, making him cover his face with both hands, exposing a wide grin.

 

“Uhhh, no.” Steve was flabbergasted, mouth hanging wide open. He followed suit in his laughter, leaning into Bucky, clutching a hand over his own chest. “You got some issues, Buck.”

 

“And one of ‘ems usually you, Steve.”

 

Steve breathed into his neck, still stifling his giggles. “Yeah, well, sorry about that.”

 

“It’s an honor, really,” he lowered his hands.

 

Steve raised his head, gazing into Bucky’s eyes; there was intent to his sharp stare, like he was tracking his every movement, studying him. Stroking up his biceps, he leaned forward, tasting him, the heat of his lips nearly unbearable in the cold apartment. “You’re always giving me issues too, y’know,” he murmured, brows raising as he spoke.

 

Bucky stifled the shiver that went down his spine. “‘Cause everything makes you cry, Steve,” he whispered back.

 

“At least I _can_ cry,” Steve’s fingertips traced up his neck, stopping to caress his rough cheek soothingly. His lips rested against the outer edge of his ear, Steve’s voice lulling, “Make me forget about these past four months,” Bucky inhaled shakily through his flaring nostrils, chest heaving with an achy tingle, the rising friction in his jeans growing to an annoyance. “I don’t wanna remember anything right now, just feel you.”

 

“But, Steve,” he rushed his exhale, “You gotta take that awful shirt off first.” He laughed nervously as Steve threw his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose in obvious frustration. He yanked the blinding shirt back over his head, folding it up neatly, setting it on top of Bucky’s suitcase.

 

“Better, jackass?” Steve laid down on the bed, waving him in his direction.

 

Bucky finally stood, already unbuttoning his jeans and fighting a smile as he pulled them off, leaping onto Steve (“ _Somebody’s eager,”)_ , finger-combing his own hair back into place. “Yeah, loads. _Language_.”

 

Steve hooked his elbow around Bucky’s neck, harshly nudging his knee into his side. He pulled him closer, their noses brushing before he was again licking at his lips, free hand pulling at the hem of Bucky’s shirt. “Just… Don’t ruin it, okay. You always talk so goddamn much.”

 

“Don’t let me,” he begged, feverishly undoing Steve’s jeans, both of them working to slide them off as Bucky soon started kissing him again from the collarbone, teeth grazing his neck―

 

“Shit, hold on Buck, please,” Bucky groaned as Steve wriggled his way out of his hold, sprawled across the bed. He clumsily pulled open his nightstand drawer, contents violently rattling around with a sharp thud. Bucky could see from the corner of his eye Steve reorganizing, pulling out a book, followed by various papers.

 

“The hell are you doing?” he stared, deciding to pull his own shirt off, tossing it to the floor.

 

Steve shook the drawer, metal clicking as he slammed it shut. Rolling onto his back, he found himself under Bucky again with an embarrassed expression, grin lopsided. “Haven’t done this in awhile… Everything just got sorta buried. It’s not important.”

 

Bucky looked down at what Steve had in his hands and laughed, “Jesus, buddy,” he grabbed the thin package, tearing it open with his teeth before pushing himself onto his knees to yank his own boxers off; Steve watched through half-closed eyes as he slid the condom on.

 

“You love me, right?” Bucky asked softly, tugging the hem of Steve’s briefs.

 

Steve twisted his fingers around the fabric of his pillow. “I’ve never stopped loving you, James. Never will.”

 

He pulled them down slowly, grabbing the near-full bottle from Steve’s hand, clicking the cap open. “How do I prove that you can trust me?”

 

Steve met Bucky’s eyes, scratching his chin, pushing the heel of his foot into Bucky’s hip; he knew he was signaling him to hurry up. “Just be honest with me. You don’t need to hide how you’re feeling, Buck, about anything. I’ve known you practically my whole life, know every little embarrassing secret about you. Stop playing the tough guy act― it only gets _you_ hurt in the end.”

 

Bucky pouted slightly, put off by how right he was. “I love you too, Steve.”

 

“I know,” he pushed himself up on his elbows, nodding in his direction. “Come here.”

 

Leaning forward again, Bucky rested himself gently on Steve’s chest, kissing everywhere from his lips to his shoulders; Steve’s vulnerability made Bucky more hesitant, his actions more deliberate.

 

 _So this is how I make him feel,_ he thought, tearing himself away briefly to pour some of the bottle’s contents on his fingers; he smoothed it up and down his dick, letting out a low sigh.

 

Switching hands, Bucky took hold of Steve’s cock, swiping over the tip teasingly; Steve’s jaw tightened, shadows shifting from the dimly cast light, highlighting the sharpness of his chin. He swallowed hard, adam’s apple raising with a tight breath, instantly released from his mouth.

 

He thumbed down the length of Steve’s shaft, could feel his foot twitch beside him, see the bones of his ribs become visible as his stomach tensed. Bucky wet his lips, biting his lower one, kissing Steve’s burning, inner thigh. “ _Relax_ , Stevie,” he hushed, stroking him up and down in even, drawn out movements.

 

With a deep rise and fall of his freckle-covered chest, Bucky could feel the tension draining from his body. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut, his brows drawn down like he always did when he was concentrating on something. He trailed a wet finger around the rim of his hole, Steve’s breath catching. Bucky shifted his weight onto his right knee, silently moving back to Steve’s face for only a second. He kissed his forehead, sweat already beginning to bead.

 

“You still okay?” He asked husky.

 

Steve peeled an eye open, slender fingers wrapping around his wrist, forcing his own fingers into place. “If you take any longer, I won’t be.”

 

He could see a blissful smile plastered across Steve’s lips, making him chuckle under his breath. He pressed his middle finger inside Steve, watched as he mouthed ‘ _Fuck’_ , forcing him to close his eyes. His dick was straining to be touched, the throbbing of his heart beat unbearable now. A lump grew in his throat as he let himself deeply grunt, the tightness of Steve enveloped around his finger and scorching warmth of his body and slippery motions tandem with his other hand working his cock making his head spin.

 

He felt Steve twitch in his palm, felt him tense around his one finger, felt his foot tapping against his leg. Steve’s voice was almost muffled, Bucky becoming lost in his own thoughts, focusing on his own sensations, his own selfish desires. “Buck,” that word rung clear in his ears, “stop―god, just fuck me. I gotta feel you, seriously. Been waiting a whole year for this, okay. ‘M ready.”

 

Bucky ran his fingers through the back of his curled hair, sucking down a burst of chilling air. He wet his lips again, giving Steve a once over, taking in the sight before him. Pulling out of Steve, steadily he took himself into his own hand ―a long, whiny groan escaped his throat, that touch long overdue― lining himself with Steve. He almost felt a sense of timidness, but that all washed away when his hips thrusted on their own, instinctively, the slow pressure of Steve around his dick enough to make him grind his teeth.

 

He pushed himself forward, hooking his elbow under the back of Steve’s knee, angling his leg. Balancing on one arm, he let himself lean forward, kiss the tremble of Steve’s chin, head falling to a single shoulder briefly.

 

Meaningless airy sounds were catching in Steve’s throat, the sound of his shallow, loud breathing in rhythm with the soft creaks of his old, wooden bedframe. Steve loosely set one arm around Bucky’s neck, hand placed on the small of his broad back, blunt nails raising goosebumps across his skin.

 

Letting Steve’s leg gently fall, Bucky dragged his arm up underneath his back, gripping his pointy shoulder, pulling Steve further into him. The movements of his hips grew more and more frantic, desperate, his egocentric wants making his mind numb to the reactions of Steve’s body.

 

“B-Bucky,” Steve was already sounding drained. His blurred eyes focused in on his darkened blues, his hair a blond mess and cheeks flushed. “Sweetheart,” he swore his heart skipped a beat, “slow down. I’m almost there―you don’t gotta rush this,” he could hear his accent thickening, “Just take it easy. This ain’t like before, not in any sort of hurry.”

 

His body relaxed at Steve’s voice, still moving but now at his own whim, feeling more than just that initial rush; he ran his hand through Steve’s hair, kissing his forehead with an out-of-breath “Sorry, kiddo.”

 

Steve’s nails pressed further into his skin, forming crescent shaped marks that would soon remain for hours. His cheeks raised, the formation of dimples fairly visible. He craned his neck as his mouth fell open, lips smacking. “You’re fine, James.”

 

Bucky slowed his pace to meet Steve’s comfort, their bodies enveloping each other, the occasional clumsy brush of skin creating a fervent friction. He strained a guttural noise deep in his throat as he mumbled into Steve’s clammy skin, nose tickled by short locks, “‘m getting there too, Stevie. Gettin’ real close.”

 

“Okay,” Steve’s changing expressions became contorted, his legs spreading further apart. His own vision was starting to cloud over, eyes growing heavy, harder to force open. Again, Steve’s coarse fingertips were stroking over his knuckles, leading him back to where he needed him most. Bucky took his ever-loving time to trail from the moistening tip of Steve’s dick down to the base, loosely pulling skin as his motions repeated. Steve’s body jerked, head falling back onto pillows, a near moan, “God, _fuck_. Buck―”

 

Bucky sucked in his lips harshly, forehead creasing intently, the pit of his stomach clenching and knees growing weak. Steve’s ass tightened around his swollen cock, wetness coating his hand as he furiously pumped Steve through his orgasm, coaxing himself to forget all the bad― his rocky relationship with his best friend that could possibly be coming to a full halt, his lying habits he still couldn’t bring himself to drop, his purely self-serving thoughts he didn’t want to let go of ―and just focus on the present, focus on the man shaking under him who was so blinded by his own love he couldn’t see what was _really_ best for him.

 

Bucky’s face fell against Steve’s chest, hips coming to a standstill. He sighed, partially out of ecstasy but more so regret and shame, not an unfamiliar feeling.

 

Steve carded his fingers through his drenched hair, chest still rising rapidly. “I love you, Bucky.”

 

Folding his arms behind Steve’s head, Bucky buried his face in his neck; “Love you too, Steve,” he said, pained and muffled.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky rubbed a towel over his head, eyeing Steve as he danced around the tiny kitchen, humming to himself as he pulled out two TV dinners from the beeping microwave. He turned on his heel, plopping himself next to Bucky, leaning into his side like he always did. “Probably best we didn’t go out tonight,” his phone lit up the dim room as he flicked it on, “Looks like it’s ten degrees out. Don’t know ‘bout you, but, not really into that.”

 

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled back, not looking at Steve as he reached for the TV remote, flipping through the channels without listening to the scattered voices.

 

“Hey, so,” Steve was scratching his fork against the tray’s rigid plastic corners, Bucky’s jaw tightening― the noise was like nails on a chalkboard, his annoyance growing with every show he passed, couples bickering back and forth in high pitched voices on scripted reality dramas. “How’s everything back in Indiana? Still getting along with Dugan at the boxing place?”

 

Bucky was quiet for a few moments; having picked up his own fork finally, he was stirring the brownie into a cold mush, vaguely processing Steve’s words. “Yeah. Beck texted earlier.”

 

“Oh, yeah? What’s she up to?” Steve asked through a yawn.

 

“Just seeing that guy,” he stiffened, making Steve struggle to stay comfortable. “Y’wanna get some sleep?”

 

Steve laughed under his breath, stretching his legs. “That would probably be wise. Gonna be a long day tomorrow, hm? It’s Christmas eve,” Standing with a smile, he gathered up his half eaten tray, plucking the damp towel lying on the armrest. “You done?”

 

“Uh,” Bucky eyed the tray full of chicken, noticing Steve doing the same. “Yeah, thanks.”

 

Steve took his mostly untouched dinner, emptying their contents into the trash. Bucky glanced towards the front door, nervously biting his thumbnail out of habit. “Hey, Steve?” He stood, passing him to grab his jacket, “I gotta go to the car real quick, okay?”

 

“Okay, Buck,” Steve nodded to his words, placing their unwashed utensils in the sink. He looked over his shoulder, gesturing towards him. “Wait, come here first.”

 

Bucky reluctantly walked back over, hands in his pockets, tapping one heel on the linoleum.

 

Steve was staring at him expectantly, the air between them feeling nothing less of awkward, for Bucky at least. “Take my scarf, okay? Think it’s starting to snow again.”

 

“I won’t be out that long,” he turned away, yanking the door open and shut before Steve could say any more.

 

Outside the lobby, the cold rushed through his nostrils, making his head ache until he threw himself in the still air of his old Buick. Leaning an elbow on the center console, Bucky groped the carpet under the passenger seat and crushed an old pack of cigarettes in his hand with a sigh of relief.

 

He pulled one out with his teeth, tapping the cassette into its player with another hand before plugging its cord into his phone, scrolling for the song he’d listen to every single time he knew he let Steve down.

 

_“I am not the only traveler who has not repaid his debt.”_

 

 

Bucky poured a lighter from the near-empty carton and shoved it into his jacket pocket ― there were still a few left.

 

 

_“I've been searching for a trail to follow again, take me back to the night we met.”_

 

 

The flame illuminated his face with a click; exposing his glassy eyes, the creases that lined either side of his frown. He pulled the yellow and blue to the tip, breathing in deeply.

 

 

_“And then I can tell myself, what the hell I'm supposed to do?”_

 

 

Smoke tickled the back of his throat before he exhaled; it sat foggy in the air of the cabin with nowhere to go. Bucky slid his jacket off, throwing it in the back seat where maybe it won’t reek so much. _Steve’s gonna be pissed_ , he thought, tossing the lighter into the cupholder.

 

 

_“And then I can tell myself not to ride along with you.”_

 

 

He rested an elbow against the door frame, taking in a few more drags, the car engulfed in darkness as he stared at the crinkling, burning tip of the cigarette he dangled loosely between his fingers tapping the steering wheel, the heat occasionally warming his knuckles.

 

_“I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you.”_

 

Steve was going to be lost to him, but Bucky knew he was better off that way ― he wouldn’t change, not even for his best friend. Folding his arms over the wheel, he buried his face in them, gently rocking back and forth.

 

 _“Take me back to the night we met._  
_I don't know what I'm supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you.”_

 

Bucky was pulled out of his self-pity when he felt the burn trickle through his skin, causing him to jerk his head up, accidentally elbowing the window (“ _Fuck_ ”); on his hand was a harsh red welt that stung when he rubbed it. _Pissed and worried_ , he sighed, tracing the circle with his fingertip.

 

_“Oh, take me back to the night we met.”_

 

It tingled softly as he stared. Tapping the cigarette ashes into the cupholder, he hovered his thumb over the fresh, hot end, holding it there longer each time. His brows lowered.

 

_“When the night was full of terrors, and your eyes were filled with tears,”_

 

Throwing his head back in frustration, more grievances and ideas raced through his mind. He squeezed his eyes tight enough to cause a headache, biting the skin of his lower lip until it bled.

 

_“When you had not touched me yet.”_

 

  
Everything was flashing by in his thoughts, his head spinning, like he was running a marathon and he just couldn’t catch up. His breathing was shallow and his heart heavy. He was getting these mental images and not just the kind of memories you sometimes reminisce about when you want to torture yourself late at night. These were vibrant, physical images, like he could really reach out and touch eighteen year old Steve, feel the heat of his tear streaked, burning cheeks. He was pulled back in time, stuck in a moment he kept so tightly locked up in his brain: The time he and Steve officially ended the romantic half of their relationship.

 

_“Oh, take me back to the night we met.”_

 

He was at the old Roger’s home; the sun was shining through the windows, hum of birds chirping faint in the background. Bucky was staring at the floor, ceiling fan turning lazily against the tense atmosphere. “I can’t explain it,” he mutters, shame flushing his cheeks.

 

―Bucky was playing with the ribbed cuff of his sweater, wincing as the knitted fabric caught the tip of his thumb―

 

“You can’t explain _what_ , Bucky? I never forced you into this goddamn mess of a ‘ _relationship_ ’,” Steve was yelling weakly, choking over his own words.

 

“I never forced you either, Steven,” he looks up at Steve’s incredulous expression, who was starting to pace again.

 

 

―He was itching at the top of his palm, scratching into his skin, anything he could do that would ground him―

 

 

The sound of the old, squeaky floorboards creaking brought back an unsettling, nauseating feeling, tying his stomach in knots. “Do you not love me or something? Is that what this is all about?”

 

“That’s not it, you fucking idiot,” he stands from the bed, his voice raising, “I can’t stand you, y’know that?” He spat. “Always followin’ me around like a lost puppy. Don’t you have your own life?”

 

Steve’s jaw tightened, his shaking fists balling until his knuckles went white. He had this look of pure fire in his reddened, watering eyes. “You,” he swallows a breath, punctuating each word, “are my life, you bastard.”

 

 

―Bucky opened his eyes to a blur of faded reality clouded with a just as real flashback. He could feel his car but not see it. Steve was still there, staring up at him, waiting for his response, his hands on his hips impatiently. He clung to the seat’s armrest, dragging his tingling fingers that felt like sandbags down rough fabric to the plastic cup holder. He put the cigarette out smoothly, as it was now down to ashes at the filter―

 

 

“Don’t say that, asshole,” his anger was building up to bury his fears; Bucky took the last few steps to tower over Steve.

 

“What are you gonna do, huh? Hit me? Go ahead,” Steve yanks his wrist towards his face, his hold surprisingly firm, twisting his skin under his grip. “Fucking _dare_ you.”

 

Bucky’s jaw tensed before he unclenched his fist, wrapping it around Steve’s neck, shoving him against the wall with a loud _bang_. Both of Steve’s hands were holding onto his wrist now as Bucky held tighter, barely noticing the gasping and fear on Steve’s face through his blind rage. “You’re not mine,” he said through gritted teeth, picking up his free hand to punch Steve in the temple.

 

“ _Buck,_ ” he cried out in pain.

 

Another punch.

 

“Stop, _please_ ―”

 

A third, breaking skin, drawing droplets of bright blood.

 

 

―Bucky furiously yanked back his sleeve, hearing a faint rip of the wool, brushing back the hairs on his arm as he hastily forced it above the nook of his elbow―

 

 

His bedroom door flung open, door knob nearly denting the wall painted baby blue. Steve’s mom was standing in the doorway, her screams muted in his muffled ears. Sarah was running over to them, grabbing Bucky by the back of his shirt's collar, choking him as she attempted to pull him away from her son. His face was becoming hot, threatening tears, arms outstretched in attempt to continue using his boyfriend as a punching bag. “Leave me _alone_ , Steve!” he yelled weakly, struggling to break free against Sarah’s grip as she dragged him out the door.

 

“James!” Sarah snapped at him, slamming Steve’s door behind her. He could tell she was trying her all to protect him, standing between Bucky and his room, her arms out to either side, blocking his path. “I’m calling your mother. I should be calling the cops, but I know you’re not like this. You need to leave and stay the hell away from my son, is that clear?”

 

 _“Fine,_ ” the tears were catching up with him, “Fine, fuck you!” Bucky was met with sharp, burning pain, traveling through his teeth and down the back of his neck. Sarah’s hand was still raised, threatening a second slap if he didn’t watch his mouth.

 

 **―** Bucky stroked his cheek **―**

 

“Your mother better set you straight or I will, James. You so much as lay another finger on that boy and you’re leaving here in cuffs.”

 

Shaken, he stormed off, the sound of him slamming the front door echoing through the apartment behind him.

 

 **―** It was like one of those dreams, where you’re falling and land in your bed, except he was never asleep and it was his back hitting the driver’s seat, not a comfortable mattress. His eyes fluttered, the darkness of his car faintly lit by flickering street lights returning. His forehead was drenched in a cold sweat, mouth agape and chest puffing at an alarming rate. Swiveling around, he pulled his jacket into his lap, pulling the abandoned white carton of cigarettes free. In a haste, he spilled all but one, holding it between two trembling fingers. It felt like deja vu as the song was repeating itself; he didn’t know if it was its second, or third, or even fourth time around, but he could tell more than just a couple of minutes had passed by the blanket of snow covering his windshield.

 

Putting the cigarette between his lips, he took the lighter ― rubbing off the ash that now covered it ― and lit it with a shaky breath, plucking the stick from his mouth soon after. “You can do this Barnes, you can do this,” he was chanting to himself, petrified.

 

He turned his left arm over, exposing the crook of his elbow, slowly bringing the end of the cigarette towards it. _You deserve this_ , his mind told him, which gave him the final push to press down; the heat came quickly, the nerves of his arm screaming, but he didn’t allow himself to back out now.

 

“ _Oh my God_ ,” he was near whimpering, his hand quivering.

 

Bucky closed his eyes, leaning his head back again, the burn turning dull as quick as it came as the music came ringing back in his ears.

 

 

 _“I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you._ _  
_ _Take me back to the night we met.”_

 

 

After a long, long moment, he freed himself, only to bring the scalding tip back down over and over again erratically, punishing himself until the pain sprawled across his forearm like a spiderweb.

 

 _  
_ _“Take me back to the night we m_ ―”

 

  
The song abruptly cut off, his phone’s screen turning stark white before turning off with a harsh vibration. Shaking his head, he took another puff before putting it out in the cupholder. He sat in the dark for another minute, staring at the disgusting circular shades of red that covered his arm in the shadows. Slipping his coat back on and unplugging the phone, he left the car, brisk air once again biting at his wounds.

 

Bucky opened the door to Steve’s place quietly, but heard his yell from the bedroom anyways (“Hey! Everything okay?”). Ignoring it, he went the opposite direction to the bathroom instead. He shuffled through the medicine cabinet, pushing Steve’s inhaler and reading glasses out of the way for the bandages.

 

Before closing the cabinet, he fell for his own curiosity and picked up a thin box that caught his eye, scrawled with faded handwriting; It read ‘ _Joseph Rogers, ‘94_ ’ on the side, and the lid a hastily written ‘ _Fragile!!_ ’.

 

He closed his eyes as he had a pretty good idea of what was inside, but carefully lifted it open anyways. The muddled gleam of silver shone in the fluorescent light ― two dog tags with a ball chain strung through both, with Steve’s father’s name and credentials stamped into each one.

 

He heard a light knock at the door, followed by, “You doing okay, sweetheart? You were gone for almost an hour… Thought you might’ve left.”

 

“M’fine, Steve,” Bucky’s voice cracked as he carefully put the box away and shut the cabinet.

 

“Okay. I brought you some clean pajamas. I’ll just leave them here,” he could hear Steve setting them on the floor. “I’ll be waiting for you,” his voice fading with the sound of his footsteps.

 

Bucky tore the rest of his clothes off, slipping the pajamas through the door crack, his guilt overwhelming him as he got dressed. He wasn’t the only one who dealt with loss, but he was the only one being selfish because of it. He flicked the light off and followed Steve to the bedroom.

  
  
“Hi Bucky,” Steve was dangling his legs off the side of the bed, setting his phone down on the nightstand. He greeted him with a wide and purely genuine smile, patting the spot beside him.

  
  
He slumped next to Steve without words, hands in his lap.

  
  
Steve’s nose crinkled like a rabbit’s, face pressed into his neck as he sniffed him. “Are you smoking again?”

  
  
Bucky grunted, “Just a couple.”

 

Steve brushed over his hand, stroking the fresh band-aid. “What’s that from?”

 

“Accident. Burned myself,” Bucky cringed when Steve leaned into him this time ― he hadn’t bothered with the rest of the wounds.

 

  
“Be more careful next time, Buck,” Steve soothingly rubbed Bucky’s thigh, quietly asking, “Seriously, what’s wrong? You use to smoke after every time we fought. Was the only time you ever really did it.”

 

“Cravings, I guess.” He moved to the head of the bed, pulling the sheets down to fold his arms behind his head, lying down. Steve followed suit, flicking off the light before shifting as close to Bucky as he would allow, cheek pressed to his chest.

 

“You’re not as good at lying as you think you are.”

 

Bucky curled an arm around Steve, sighing, “and you’re worse.” He kissed him on the forehead.

 

Steve caressed his hand down Bucky’s side. “What happened to this whole being honest with me thing? Were you just saying that so I’d fuck you or were you serious?”

 

“ _You_ seduced me. And I am bein’ honest.”

 

Steve loudly sighed. “You’re walking a _very_ thin line here, Buck.”

 

Bucky smoothed his hair. “But I’ll be with you ‘til the end of that line.”

 

“Why do I have a bad feeling like this line isn’t very long?” Steve was cynically laughing, the hurt painfully obvious in his voice. “You were my first, and only, love, James. And you always will be, no matter what. I know that makes me stupid, but I don’t care anymore.”

 

“You’re my first too, Steve,” he pulled him closer. “And, yeah, you are stupid. Very stupid.”

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky, still half asleep, tiredly grunted under a shallow, quiet breath, his arm completely aching. The soreness reminded him of when he’d train for hours at the ring, except he’d usually see positive results out of that, not something he could say for his newfound interest. With every movement he made, his sleeve tugged and pulled harshly, his skin crusted to the thin cotton of his thermal.

 

He glanced down at Steve, his bangs clumped all to one side. He looked content, his soft snoring making Bucky nearly chuckle. Trying to shift his position to something a little more comfortable, he trailed down Steve’s spine, mindlessly tracing his back in drawn out patterns. All he wanted to do in that moment was go take a long shower, maybe a little cold water would set his mind straight, but the longer he admired Steve, the less he wanted to leave him.

 

Compromising, Bucky carefully reached for his phone, instantly lowering his screen’s brightness before it could disturb Steve. His thumb still stung as he tapped Chrome open on the screen; he thought for nearly a minute before he was rolling his eyes at himself, finding himself on Buzzfeed’s quiz page.

 

He opened any quiz that wasn’t utterly ridiculous ― he tried to bite his tongue as he scrolled past one titled ‘ **Build a sandwich and We’ll tell you when you’re getting married!** ’.

 

Begrudgingly, he opened a page filled with various clipart images, snorting derisively at the header, ‘ **Is Your Relationship Healthy?** ’.

 

Though being a dumb quiz ―definitely the kind Rebecca loved taking―  on a dumb site only popular for its absurdity, he felt a deep sadness, his throat tightening as he progressed through the questions. ‘How often do you say I love you?’ and ‘What are your arguments like?’ and ‘Can you truly say you want to spend the rest of your life with them?’ were making Bucky’s eyes foggy, that unwanted taste of salt creeping up his tongue.

 

His results loaded, drawing another scoff out of him. ‘ **Bummer!** Your relationship is on the rocky side. You tend to argue more often than not and don’t always see eye to eye. Maybe you should reconsider being in one at all, for the sake of your partner.’ He quickly exited out of the tab, setting his phone down to pinch the bridge of his nose.

 

With a deep sigh, he continued browsing through his phone, against his own best interest. Going down his Facebook feed, he could feel himself frowning instinctively; Nat had finally made an album of their large summer wedding, followed by photos from their honeymoon in Budapest. There was a picture of him and Steve; Natasha’s relatives had all flown in from Russia, some not knowing a lick of English, and so Steve had the wise idea of pushing Bucky over to talk to them because he took Russian for three years in high school, though he slept through most of the classes.

 

Looking at Steve’s profile made him feel both envious and jealous. Envious that he actually was successful in what he wanted to do, being a featured artist in multiple gallery showings and having his paintings hung in local shops. Bucky couldn’t say the same for himself; he wasn’t getting anywhere with his boxing, not that that had ever been a huge goal in his mind. Since getting his first job at sixteen, he always worked just to put bread on the table. He wasn’t like Steve, he didn’t have a goal in mind or something he was incredibly passionate about. Hell, he hardly had any hobbies besides reading crappy pulps from the forties and collecting junk.

 

He was jealous that Steve actually was making more friends, that he was hanging out with other people and laughing with them and he wasn’t a part of it. It felt endless, the amount of photos Steve was tagged in, surrounded by their highschool friends that he shut out and new, unfamiliar, smiling faces. It almost upset him that he never talked about these people, but then again, he never asked about his personal life, more than a few ‘How are things?’ and a couple of ‘School going well?’.

 

Opening messenger, Clint’s name appeared top of his list, accented with ‘Active’ and a green circle. He tapped on his picture, the last message he had sent him being five months ago.

 

 **Bucky Barnes** \- 05:43 AM

Can’t sleep?

 

Bucky’s message was instantly met with a blurry snapshot of a golden retriever dashing through Clint’s fenced in backyard, a deep paw print trail following behind, the sky still dark with hints of blue.

 

 **Clint Barton** \- 05:43 AM  
It’s this damn dog, man. Already on my third cup

 

Another out of focus picture, this time of a white “I <3 NY” mug placed in Clint’s lap. He could see he was sitting on his porch, donning snow boots and purple plaid pants.

 

 **Bucky Barnes** \- 05:45 AM

Nice pajamas

 

 **Clint Barton** \- 05:52 AM

Always great talking to you Barnes. Such riveting conversations we have.

 

Bucky opened his camera, taking a photo of Steve’s window, the wooden paneling faintly illuminated by those string lights Steve hardly turned off.

 

 **Bucky Barnes** \- 05:54 AM  
Nothing's too exciting over here. Don’t know what else you’d want me to say

 

 **Clint Barton** \- 05:56 AM

That’s not Indiana. Where the hell are you?

 

 **Bucky Barnes** \- 05:56 AM  
Maybe your cup can answer that for you

 

 **Clint Barton** \- 6:04 AM

No shit, really? What’re you doing back in New York? Thought you were taking care of your mom’s farm or something.

 

 **Bucky Barnes** \- 06:05 AM

I always wanted a pig

 

Bucky quickly took to google, saving a photo of a small pig wearing a yellow raincoat with matching red boots. He sent it to Clint, trying to stifle his laughter as Steve snuggled in further to him, his snoring turning to a sigh.

 

 **Clint Barton** \- 6:11 AM  
Yeah, looks real tasty. You didn’t answer my question though…

 

 **Bucky Barnes** \- 06:13 AM

It’s not /tasty/, it’s my pet on my mom’s farm

 

 **Clint Barton** \- 06:15 AM  
Ok, well I’m done talking to you unless you actually had something you wanted to ask me.

 

 **Bucky Barnes** \- 06:16 AM  
No, I did

 

 **Clint Barton** \- 06:16 AM  
And?

 

 **Bucky Barnes** \- 06:16 AM  
And what

  
  
**Clint Barton** \- 06:17 AM  
WHAT’S THE DAMN QUESTION?

  
  
**Clint Barton** \- 06:17 AM  
Come on man, I’m tired. Have a lot to do before I need to get Nat up, out with it.

 

Bucky again was looking at Steve, stroking through his messy blond locks, cupping the back of his neck. He kept forgetting it was Christmas Eve, just kept feeling like any other shitty day. He knew Steve loved the holiday, was his absolute favorite besides the Fourth, and he really did want to have a good time with him. It was his goal to go a day without completely fucking everything up, and he was determined to make today relatively alright.

 

He wanted to go to Rockefeller Center again after so many years, get hot chocolate at Jacques Torres like they did as kids, stop by Anopoli for lunch: the plans they’d been excitedly talking about for months

 

.  
**Bucky Barnes** \- 06:22 AM  
You got any plans for lunch

 

 **Clint Barton** \- 06:25 AM  
You wanna take me some place nice? Just got this new dress I’ve been dying to wear.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

 **Bucky Barnes** \- 06:26 AM  
You know where Anopoli is

 

 **Clint Barton** \- 06:28 AM  
Yeah, it’s like 45 minutes from here. So you’re in Brooklyn then?

 

 **Bucky Barnes** \- 06:30 AM

Yeah, I’m in Brooklyn for now

 

 **Clint Barton** \- 06:31 AM  
With a blond certain someone?

 

 **Clint Barton** \- 06:32 AM  
You’re asking me out on a double date, Barnes? :)

 

“Bucky,” Steve groggily mumbled, pulling at his sleeve. Bucky winced, gritting his teeth. “Cuddle.”

 

“So needy.” Bucky typed back a short reply.

 

 **Bucky Barnes** \- 06:35 AM  
See you around noon

 

He slipped his phone under the pillow, rolling to his side, pulling Steve with him. Steve’s arms wrapped around his back, head pressed to his shoulder. He kissed his cheek, hushing, “S’almost Christmas, Stevie. You excited?”

 

“Mhm,” Steve hummed. “Happy you’re here.”

 

Bucky closed his eyes, his uninjured arm hooking around Steve’s waist. His chest continued to get tighter, lump in his throat stuck and nerves anxious. “Me too, buddy. Me too.”

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Steve_ , stop, please,” Bucky visibly huffed, hands shoved in his coat pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. Steve was tugging at his collar and adjusting his tie for the tenth time that afternoon, like it had become some kind of nervous habit.

 

“What? What’s so wrong with me wanting my boyfriend to look nice?” Steve licked his palm, reaching to smooth over Bucky’s unbrushed hair. He ducked out of the way, slipping from Steve’s hold.

 

“Don’t put your spit in my hair, I swear,” Steve’s dimples came into full force as he was laughing, clapping his hand on Bucky’s chest. Bucky couldn’t help himself but smile, his head shaking. “You’re lookin’ real good too, Stevie. Shirt’s perfect for you, really says a whole lot.”

 

Steve puckered his lips at Bucky playfully, but he still leaned in, kissing him regardless, seemingly surprising Steve. Steve remarked in a sarcastic tone with a wide smirk, “Best thing anyone’s ever given me. Thanks, Buck,” he patted Bucky on the cheek.

 

“Uh oh.” Across the street, he spotted an all too familiar tan fleece coat; Natasha had her slender arm curled around Barton’s, the two of them engaged in a conversation so loud that he could repeat it back word for word.

 

“What?” Steve looked at him. “What’s ‘uh oh’?”

 

He nudged Steve’s side, gesturing with his head. “That.”

 

“Huh? I don’t see it,” Steve squinted, raising a hand to his forehead.

 

Bucky found himself rolling his eyes again, huffing out a cold breath of laughter. He grabbed Steve by the shoulders, pulling him in front of himself, pointing directly at the pair. “There. Better?”

 

“Oh!” Steve raised himself on his feet, waving excitedly. “Hey, Nat!”

 

She turned her head, tugging on Clint’s jacket as they crossed the street. She had a smile on her face as she waved back, although short lived as it immediately faded when her eyes met Bucky’s.

 

“Hey you two,” Natasha said raspily, pulling Steve in for a hug. She was looking up at Bucky, narrow glare with pursed lips. He half-heartedly saluted in return while Clint took his turn to hug Steve.

 

Unbeknown to the current tension, he curled his hands into his chest and pointed to Bucky in one fluid motion: _“How are you?”_

 

“Doing fine,” he said, waving a stiff palm outwards from his own chest, “Ready to go?” His eyes darted back and forth between the three of them, unable to rest on Nat’s icy expression for long before she finally softened to smile at Clint, pinching his elbow; he smiled back and threw his arm around Steve, falling into conversation while steering the group onward ―

 

― But not without Bucky nearly tripping over himself as Nat circled in on him.

 

“Can’t you ever―”

 

“Fuck’s sake, Nat―”

 

She jabbed him in the shoulder with a finger, making him stumble again: “Can’t you _ever_ think about someone other than your own damn self for _one_ second?”

 

“He’s all I think about,” Bucky hissed into her ear as he passed, catching up with the others.

 

Entering the restaurant with a soft _ding_ of the door, the party was greeted by a mixture of chefs and waitresses busying themselves behind the bar. The soft, white glow of the sporadic snowfall outside reflected off the dark, wooden interior of the small parlor. Steve slid into a beige-colored booth, whipping off hat and gloves as Bucky tucked in next to him, greeted by a smile and kiss on the cheek while a disgruntled Nat plopped down opposite of them, followed by her own lover.

 

Bucky noticed Clint resting a hand on Nat’s thigh as he started their chatter: Their honeymoon, Steve’s NYU experience, Bucky’s life back at home, the antics of “that damn dog;” it was not long before he questioned how long Bucky and Steve had been back together with a double-tap of two fingers on his chin, much to Steve’s blushing face.

 

“Only recently, really,” he replied, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “Guess it’s a fine line between being best friends and being―”

 

Steve’s expression turned timid at the loud _huff_ from Nat that Clint felt exhaled down his shoulder, causing the entire table to look at her. The silence was only interrupted by the cheerful inquiry of a waitress, pen in hand (“What’ll you be having today?”) which Bucky responded to by standing ― the atmosphere only becoming worse.

 

“Bacon sandwich, please,” he turned to Steve, “Gonna have a cigarette.”

 

“Okay Buck,” Steve said under his breath. “Still don’t like that you’re smoking again.”

 

“‘M’sorry,” Bucky mumbled as he walked down the restaurant, already bringing the open pack of cigarettes to his lips before the door could creak shut as he left. From the corner of his eye, he could see Clint trailing behind.

 

Clint slipped his last cigarette from behind his ear as he came outside, staring expectantly as he held it to his mouth. “Help a man out, wontcha?”

 

He whisked the flame towards Clint, igniting the tip as he watched him exhale excess smoke with a frosty breath. “You guys got any exciting plans for the rest of the day?”

 

Bucky couldn’t resist smiling, his words spilling out faster than he could vaguely sign ― at least, of what he could remember to sign from high school ― “We’re gonna go to Rockefeller, get some hot chocolate at this one place we always used to go to, basically freeze our asses off all night before opening a few presents, maybe.”

 

“I can hear you fine, buddy,” Clint tapped his ear lobe, Bucky glancing at the hearing aid. He grinned compassionately at him. “Sounds busy. We got some of Nat’s relatives driving in later, think Kate said she was dropping by. Honestly, I ‘unno. Shit’s gonna be cramped, hell if I know where everyone is even gonna sleep.”

 

He nodded, taking another drag. “No wonder you guys were up so early.”

 

Clint waved his hand, snorting. “Nah actually, Lucky got into the leftovers from last night. Poor guy was howling at the door, trying not to shit his brains out,” he tapped his cigarette with his thumb, ashes falling to the ground. “Speaking of which, the hell were _you_ doing up at five? Wake up just to bother me or what?”

 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he laughed nervously. “And I know you’re always up anyways.”

 

“Man,” Clint turned to face him, “I’ve known you since sixth grade. The only time you ever talk to me or Nat is when something’s not right with you and Steve. So, spill it or I’m gonna send her out here instead. She’s fucking pissed at you, won’t tell me why though.”

 

Bucky ran his fingers through his hair, still holding a fake smile. “Isn’t she usually? We just had a long night, y’know,” he winked.

 

“Ah, gotcha. Gross,” He could see Clint’s eyes focusing on his arm, feel the air nipping at his bare skin. Nonchalantly, he pivoted, shifting Clint’s viewing angle of his body. “The fuck was that?”

 

“Nothin’, man,” Bucky dropped his half-smoked cigarette, crushing it under his foot.

 

“Didn’t look like just nothin’,” he mocked Bucky’s accent, stepping an inch closer. “I wanna see.”

 

He stepped back, conscious of the fact that Nat was probably staring daggers through the tinted window. “I’m not gonna do this right now, alright?”

 

Clint stubbed his own cigarette out on the brick wall before tossing it into the metal trash can behind him. With a strong hold, his fingers wrapped around his wrist, catching Bucky off guard. “...did you try to kill yourself?”

 

“Christ, Clint ― no,” his breath caught in his throat, “It’s not like that at all, okay?”

 

He let go of Bucky, scratching the back of his neck. “Whatever it is, knock it off. Steve would be goddamn devastated if anything happened to you. Already have enough on my plate as it is, don’t need to be babysitting your crying boyfriend too.”

 

“Nobody asked you to,” Bucky sucked in his cheek and grabbed the door handle with a low “Sorry” before swinging it open, waiting for Clint to enter first. He avoided his eyes, peering in the doorway only to see that Steve had wandered over the jukebox, clicking through the ‘45s.

 

“Hey, Buck!” Steve waved him over, his teeth sparkling in the diner’s light. “Check this out, they have some of your favorites here.”

 

He smiled back as Clint walked in, an uneasy look still on his face. Following behind him, Bucky passed their booth down towards Steve, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “Oh, yeah, The Monkees. Very cool.” he snorted.

 

Steve flicked the bandaid on Bucky’s hand, stopping on Joan Jett’s “Bad Reputation”. Shrugging, he spun around in Bucky’s arms, his own wrapping around his neck. “This song always makes me think of you.”

 

Bucky furrowed his brows with a confused smile, “Thanks, I think.” The jukebox echoed throughout the nearly empty hall; the hiss of the espresso machine was drowned out along with the murmur of the few men at the bar having their lunch break coffee. Noticing this, he slowly maneuvered Steve down the length of the place, grabbing his hand from his own shoulder to progress into an awkwardly paced dance.

 

“Buck, whaddya doing? You know I don’t―” Steve nervously laughed into the crook of Bucky’s neck, accidently stepping on his toes. “You know I _can’t_ dance.”

 

“Me neither, buddy,” he chuckled, ignoring the stares of the other customers, including Clint and Nat ― the latter of who was staring at the decorated shelves, the shadow of a smile hinting at her lips.

 

“Come on, look at them,” Clint was trying to coax Natasha from their booth, “They’re having fun, don’t you wanna too?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “If it makes you happy,” Nat extended a delicate hand towards him, Clint pulling her onto her feet. He guided her over to the already dancing pair, snapping his fingers along the way.

 

“God, this reminds me of my grunge days,” he took a step back from Natasha, hands clasping his knees. “Watch this,” he said, banging his head, creating a one-man mosh.

 

Bucky was nearly in tears watching Clint in the corner of his eye, sucking down the guffaw that wanted to escape. Leading Steve’s right arm above his head, he gave him a slight nod as Steve awkwardly spun in a half circle, the black and white checkered tiles squeaking underneath his too loose sneakers. The arm looped around his waist grew stronger, pulling Steve close into himself, whispering, “Trust me just this once. I got you, Stevie.”

 

He leaned over him as Steve dipped down, his back curving slowly along the way. Steve’s leg slightly lifted from the floor as Bucky held him in that position, their noses brushing.

 

“Thought you said you couldn’t dance,” Steve’s long, blond lashes fluttered against pale, freckled cheeks.

 

“I can’t,” he enjoyed the sight of Steve’s baby blue eyes for a second longer, shyly closing the gap between them.

 

* * *

 

“So, when did you say the last time you went skating was?” Steve peered over at Bucky who was still tying his skates, struggling to loop the strings short enough.

 

“You were there,” he made several knots at the tops, ending in uneven bows. “Last Christmas Eve, remember? When’s the last time _you_ did?”

 

“Oh, right,” Steve rewrapped his scarf, pulling it closer to his neck, giving a weak shiver before standing with a hop. “Uh, actually went to the rink maybe two weeks ago, I think? With Sam and this girl from my color theory class.”

 

Bucky looked up at him, his tone becoming bitter. “Oh, yeah? Do I know her?”

 

“She’s actually a good friend of Peggy, so maybe? But, she’s in a few of my classes, so that’s how I met her,” he shrugged, glancing towards the happy families whirring by on the ice, “She’s pretty incredible at the whole pop art stuff, you know, like what you saw at the museum. Gonna be graduating this year, she actually already has an internship lined up with Image Comics. Pretty jealous,” Steve laughed.

 

“She is, huh,” he replied shortly, looking away, up towards the giant, glittering Christmas tree. “D’you see her much?”

 

“Hardly ever. She’s actually from Ohio, so it’s not like she’s even staying once she finishes,” Steve leaned towards Bucky, kissing his cheek. “Oh Buck, you don’t think I got a thing for this girl, do you?”

 

“Just wonderin’,” he stood up to grab Steve’s arm, tugging on it firmly. “C’mon.”

 

Steve looked at him with a suspicious smirk, walking with Bucky onto the ice, a hand firm on the wooden railing. Bucky grumbled under his breath the second his skate made contact inside the rink, blade scraping against the ice harshly. “You doin’ okay?” Steve was clearly trying not to laugh.

 

“This ain’t my first time,” he muttered in annoyance, putting his other foot into the rink ―

 

“ _Fuck_ ”

 

― only to be caught in Steve’s firm grip, his hands both wrapped around his forearm. He was bending backwards, almost unnaturally so, knees bent and fingers turning a numb red from gripping the freezing surface underneath his skates to steady himself.

 

“Everyone needs practice sometimes, Buck. It’s okay, we’ll just go _extra_ slow,” Steve was biting his tongue as he yanked him upright with a wink, an arm snaking around his hip.

 

He loosened his tie further with a sharp tug. “Thought you didn’t like it too slow.”

 

“No, I really don’t,” Steve stretched out his words, “But I don’t think we have a choice in this case.” Steve pulled them forward along the edge at a drawn out pace, continuously glancing back at Bucky.

 

“I’ll be fine,” he rolled his eyes; his free arm attempting to balance out the skates skittering under his feet, the other gripping the back of Steve’s jacket.

 

“Huh? You’re fine? Alright,” Steve carefully pried Bucky’s hand from himself, lowering the arm he kept tight to steady him. Giving Bucky a light push, he skated an inch or two backwards, nearly colliding with a man speeding by. He gave a small gesture, snickering, “Go on!”

 

“ _Steve!”_ he screeched over his shoulder, tufts of hair whipping him in the eyes as his arms waved frantically, scaring away small children as they sped past him. The gleaming metal of Steve’s phone caught his attention, his brows furrowing. “Are― Are you _filming_ me?”

 

“Maybe, I ‘unno,” Steve shrugged, sucking in his lips, entire body shaking from his high pitched chortles. “Come over and find out.”

 

“You’re seriously the biggest jackass I’ve ever met,” he grunted through clenched teeth, nails digging into the railings. With every attempt he made at pulling himself closer to Steve, Steve cockily skated further away like it was the easiest thing in the world.

 

“You ever met yourself?” Sliding next to Bucky, he teasingly shook the phone in front of his face, snatching it out of reach the second he tried to pull it away, moving back to his original position. “It’s not _that_ bad, you big drama queen.”

 

Bucky, pouting, wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck from behind, the weight sliding them both forward across the ice ― “We’re flying, Jack!” ― he yelled in Steve’s ear, hand still flailing at the phone. He took one wrong step, too off to recover from, toppling to the ground, taking Steve down with him ― “Ship’s sinking! Mayday!”. He could hear a soft _thud_ , followed by a low groan, Steve squirming underneath him.

 

“Jesus Buck, lay off the marshmallows. You’re crushing me here,” he whined in a child-like voice, trying to twist himself around. There was a shiny, red bump growing on his forehead, Bucky going doe eyed, his breath catching.

 

“M’Sorry,” he grunted, rolling over onto his back to let Steve stand.

 

“It’s okay,” Steve laughed, dusting off his jeans. “Are you ― Christ, Bucky, are you hurt?”

 

He was holding his stinging arm, face scrunched up in pain. Digging the heels of his blades firmly into the ice, Steve cupped both of his hands under Bucky’s armpits, getting him to at least sit up. Then with a rough yank, he was grabbing at his arm again, trying to get him back to standing. Bucky felt himself flinch, pulling away from Steve without thinking.

 

“Hey,” Steve lowered himself slowly, crouching, “Is your arm okay? It seems like you fell pretty hard on it.” He was reaching for cuffs of his sleeves, fingers brushing underneath the fabric, against his throbbing skin.

 

Bucky jerked his arm away again, shaking the sleeve down into place. “Just twisted it a little,” he struggled lifting himself up, Steve rising alongside him to cup his waist again.

 

“You sure? ‘Cause we can go to a doctor if you need to, think mine’s still open today,” Steve pointed his thumb behind him, a look of worry in his eyes. The bump on his head seemed to be swelling, now the size of a quarter. Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle; here Steve was, head busted and fingers bordering on purple, but still worrying over Bucky, just like always.

 

“Are _you_ okay?” he eyed Steve’s temple while being carefully carried away to the edge of the rink.

 

“What’re you talking about?” Steve cocked his head.

 

Bucky smiled through the pain in his eyes and poked the fresh red spot, causing Steve to cringe himself. “That,” he said, leaning to kiss him on the forehead gently.

 

Steve had an eye closed, cheek raised on one side. “Does it look bad?”

 

“Nah. Makes you look tough.” Bucky stepped off the ice, plopping down in the nearest set of chairs to start working out the knots in his laces.

 

“Hey, wait!” Steve chased after him, blades clacking against the cement flooring. He pulled his phone out of his front pocket. The screen had been smashed in, almost to the point of not being able to see what was behind the cracks. “Come here quick. We gotta get at least one photo.”

 

Bucky stood with a sigh, laces trailing along the ground as he was led by Steve back to the clear wall, throwing one arm around his shoulders. “You sure that thing’ll even work now?”

 

Steve looked at him with an embarrassed smile. “Oh, yeah. It’s been like that for months, it wasn’t you. Don’t worry.” He leaned into Bucky’s side, his arm shaking from how high it was raised, struggling to press the shutter button on his phone. “Can you maybe, uh, lean down a little?”

 

He snickered, but complied; “Anything for you, buddy,” he said, hunching down far enough to squish his cheek against Steve’s throbbing forehead.

 

Steve repeatedly pressed the side button on his phone, Bucky’s head being cut out of ninety percent of the pictures, usually just Steve’s face and a sliver of his eye. “ _Buck,_ ” he whined, handing it to him. “Can you try? Please, I just want one where you’re actually in it.”

 

“Jesus, alright, little guy.” He grabbed the destroyed phone and angled it above them, taking a succession of blurry photos which made Steve complain even more: “You’re not _doing_ it right―”

 

“It looks like you may need some help?” Bucky lowered Steve’s phone. A woman with neatly parted auburn hair and pale green eyes was standing with her blond partner’s arm wrapped around her waist, her light red lips curling. “Steve?” She asked a moment later, angling her head.

 

“Wanda?” his eyes brightened at the sight of her in the same time that Bucky’s narrowed, looking back and forth. “Issat the girl from class?” he hissed, gripping Steve’s shoulder briefly.

 

Steve elbowed him in the stomach, sucking in his cheeks. “Haven’t seen you since uh…”

 

“Sam’s birthday,” she snapped her fingers, nails painted a metallic black. Bucky knew he was staring too long, drawing the attention of the man attached to her side, but he could feel the jealousy rising within himself. His grasp around Steve tightened. “How have you been? Good?”

 

“Really good, actually,” he gestured towards Bucky. “Boyfriend’s in town while Sam sees his folks for Christmas.”

 

She reached out to shake his hand. “This is Vis,” Wanda added, patting his chest, “Pietro is somewhere too, I think he was parking the car, he said.”

 

Bucky apprehensively let go of Steve to reach for hers. “Oh,” she started again, “Sam mentioned before your ex too was coming to town?”

 

He went cold, still holding Wanda’s hand in place, though her expression only vaguely revealed how weird she must have thought Bucky was as he squeezed it tighter.

 

“It’s going to be a full house, it sounds like,” she finally pulled away, unsettled. “Do you have any fun plans for Christmas? Vis was going to make his chicken paprikash tomorrow, which is always a _treat_ ,” she emphasized, Vis’s eyes darting away.

 

Steve’s body grew tense as he shifted closer to Bucky, his hand trailing up his spine, patting his back gently. “Right...this _is_ the ex. Or, was. Long story,” he cleared his throat. “We’ve got a few small things planned.”

 

Wanda looked at them both simultaneously, her mouth wide open. “I’m so sorry. Now I’m making things uncomfortable, great,” she turned her head as another tall, well built man with brushed back faded blond hair put his arm around her shoulder.

 

“Who’s these two?” He said with a crinkle to his eyes, smile forming as his attention rested on Steve. “Ah! Hey buddy. It’s been a long time no see.”

 

Bucky took a deep breath as the two exchanged a hug and more annoying, friendly pleasantries (“S’great seeing you too, Pietro!”); ignoring Bucky, ‘Pietro’ went on talking.

 

“Steve, do you like watching the movies? You have seen the Ghostbusters, yes?” Pietro was saying, Wanda placing a finger on his lips. “Pietro is just excited because he might be cast for one of those Hollywood movies, about a superhero, nonetheless.”

 

Bucky felt Steve’s hand reach for his own as he went on. “Yeah, yeah I do,” he chuckled, “That sounds…pretty _kickass_ , actually.”

 

“Do you know of Nicolas Cage? He is also in this, and it takes place even in New York. This is the kind of thing I have been dreaming about since moving to the states. I use to read the comics every night in our bunker―” Wanda stared up at the sky, tongue pressed to her cheek. “I really do not think they care about any of this, Pietro.”

 

“Our reservations are soon,” the unusually silent man to Wanda’s right chimed in, jostling Bucky. He could see the same reaction plastered across Steve’s face, making him bite his lip.

 

Bucky cleared his throat causing the four of them to stare in surprise. “Uh, we were…” Smoothing his hair, he started again after taking his own phone out and waving it in no particular direction. “The picture?”

 

“That’s right,” Wanda said, knocking on her head. “This is because you talk too much,” she looked at Pietro, shooing him away. “You two go ahead, it will only be a minute.”

 

Pietro rolled his eyes, walking past Bucky, knocking his shoulder. “I do not,” he said, too close to Bucky’s ear. Vis followed behind, kissing Wanda on the side of her head first, exchanging quick ‘I love you’s before he disappeared behind them. Steve quickly, and nonchalantly, brushed his bangs over to cover the mark on his forehead.

 

She plucked the phone still dangling from Bucky’s hand and held it up to her face, beckoning the couple to inch closer. “Steve’s friend, you must kneel down,” Wanda instructed.

 

“Ready...now smile,” she said as Steve turned to plant a kiss on Bucky’s cheek instead.

 

He felt his face start to blush; “Thanks,” Bucky muttered, taking the phone from a half-smiling Wanda.

 

“Of course,” Wanda said with a forced cheerful tone, peering behind them. “See you around sometime, Steve?”

 

“Yeah, for sure,” Steve nodded.

 

“Good, good,” she began to laugh, attention still distant. Her eyes settled between the two of them as she clapped her hands together. “Oh, right, before I forget! Steve,” she waved towards Bucky, “Some of the guys from school are doing a Christmas thing at a bar near the campus tonight. Feel free to stop by.”

 

“Sounds fun but we sorta already got plans all ni―” Bucky started grumbling, his foot starting to tap. Steve cut him off, politely replying, “We can stop by for a bit, Buck. Won’t hurt to just check it out.”

 

“Whatever,” he looked away.

 

“Okay,” Wanda said blandly. She gave Steve a quick hug before taking off behind them, calling out her brother’s name loudly.

 

Bucky gave Steve a push back towards the table before finally sitting down again in a huff, shoving his skates off onto the concrete; Steve quietly did the same.

 

Breaking the growing silence, Steve meekly spoke, “Bucky, if this is about the ex thing―”

 

“What _exactly_ have you been telling people about that, Steve?” he interrupted with a slap to the table, its metal legs quivering.

 

Steve wore a familiar expression of fear, rubbing his hands together. “It’s not like you and I have exactly had the best past, relationship wise. I mean, that’s technically what you are, Buck. My ex.”

 

His eyes closed briefly before flickering to stare at Steve. “Am I still, really?”

 

Steve stretched across the table, thumbs rubbing over the back of Bucky’s palms. “I sure as hell hope not.”

 

“You could do better a whole lot better than me”, he interlocked his fingers with Steve’s.

 

“Don’t say that,” Steve’s voice lowered, warning him. “Buck, I told you last night, you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to be with. I don’t care about anyone else, just you.”

 

“You’re the only person I wanna be with, too. S’why I’m here, isn’t it?”

 

Steve pushed back his chair, scraping aggressively against the floor. He looked down at Bucky, taking his jaw in both hands, stroking down his rough stubble, holding him like that. His lips were pressed to the top of his hand before he ruffled his hair, reminiscent of what Bucky always did to him. “Yeah, it is,” he shrugged, “We’ve both done shit we regret in the past. Only difference is you’re way too hard on yourself,” he kissed his nose.

 

Bucky smiled at last. “I seriously don’t deserve you... _buddy_.”

 

Steve huffed out a short breath of laughter, flicking his ear. “Just, shut up. Come on, let’s go enjoy the rest of the day. Supposed to be a day of celebration and I wanna make the most of it,” he pulled Bucky from his sitting position, adding, “And, that’s what I’m talking about. You really do deserve the best, Buck.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky dragged a hand over his tired eyes, combing his fingers through his hair to scratch his neck. He gave Steve a loose gesture. “Remind me, why are we going to this thing again?”

 

“Buck,” Steve was again fiddling with his tie, unbuttoning and rebuttoning his suit jacket over and over again. They’d been sitting in the back of his car for at least thirty minutes, parked outside the bar, listening to a playlist they’d created of some of their favorite songs years ago. “It’s only gonna be for a bit, maybe even just a few minutes. Plus, you look very handsome, don’t you wanna show that off?”

 

“I guess,” he said, picking up his stained paper cup, finishing off the rest of his once _hot_ chocolate. He gave Steve a long look before he was shifting uncomfortably in the cramped space, straddling Bucky’s lap, elbows resting on his shoulders. “Maybe you can relax my nerves a little, hm?”

 

Steve leaned into him, chuckling softly. “Maybe your nerves are shot ‘cause you live off of sugar all day, every day,” he grabbed the cup from him, twirling it in his hand before setting it down beside them.

 

“I ‘unno, I guess. You’re pretty sweet too, maybe you can help balance it out,” he trailed his way down Steve’s sides, gliding over his ribs, feeling around the loose waistband of his pants, finally deciding to rest at his ass.

 

“Are you trying to relive your high school dreams or something?” Steve said teasingly, leaning closer to lick across Bucky’s lips, still tasting like dark chocolate.

 

“Tryin’, not exactly working,” he said as Steve craned his neck, Bucky peppering his smooth skin in quick pecks.

 

“Buuuuck,” Steve said sing-song, gently pushing him back with two fingers, kissing him a second time. “I seriously _do_ want to go in. At least say hi to Wanda again, if you don’t mind that.”

 

Bucky closed his eyes, sucking in his lips. “Fine. You wanna stay longer though, I’m leaving your ass and coming back.”

 

Steve looked at him, pinching his cheek. “Sounds like a deal.”

 

His eyes rolled on their own as he laughed, his hands placed on Steve’s waist, helping him shift back off his lap. Shimmying himself, he opened the door with a click, the freezing night air rushing in relentlessly. “Fuck, it’s gettin’ cold.”

 

“Of course it’s cold, it’s winter,” Steve said, sticking his tongue out as Bucky turned to look back at him.

 

He went to unplug his phone as Steve climbed out, stretching his arms above his head. He locked his car, shoving the keys into his front pocket, pulling Steve back into him, mooching off his body heat. “Am I gonna even know anyone here?”

 

“Uh, I dunno. Seen some people from our old school walking around campus, so maybe,” a crowd of young looking faces, all wearing thick framed glasses and similarly matched beanies, loitered outside the the brick building, chatting amongst themselves with cigarettes in their hands. “That’s the beauty of a party though, Buck. I can finally introduce you to some of my friends from class, and as my boyfriend,” he teased. As they passed, Bucky felt the restless 20-somethings staring at him as he glared in return.

 

“ID?” the young bouncer at the door asked, looking down at Steve who was fumbling for his wallet while Bucky snickered behind him; he stopped when the man held out a hand towards Bucky’s chest.

 

“You too, pal.”

 

Steve’s eyes crinkled in a smile at Bucky, who sighed in exasperation as he held up his own wallet. Opening the door for Steve first, they stepped inside the warm building, packed full of bodies and loud, thrumming pop music.

 

“God, shit,” Bucky whispered, his eyes narrowed at a specific group occupying one of the many booths tucked against the dim tan walls, laughing loudly over beers. None other than Tony Stark himself was leaning against a small table, his hand perched on the shoulder of his strawberry blonde girlfriend.

 

“You okay?” Steve was tracing what his eyes were focused on, looking back up at him. “What, Tony?”

 

“Yeah ― Hey, are you gonna get a drink or what?” he tugged at his own collar and scanned the rest of the crowd, moving to hide behind Steve uselessly.

 

Steve looked over his shoulder, taking Bucky’s hand into his own. “What are you doing?” Steve half chuckled, leading them towards the bar that was buzzing with energy. Steve flagged down the man running back and forth relentlessly, his face nothing less of tired but still holding a polite grin.

 

He reached into his pocket, slipping out a ten dollar bill, smoothing it against the counter. “Can I get a Corona, uh,” he looked at Bucky, “Get whatever you want, I don’t know what you like anymore.”

 

Bucky crinkled his nose. “The same thing I’ve liked since I was seventeen.”

 

Steve bit his lip. “Is it because of the ―”

 

“The star. Yeah, Steve,” he looked towards the patient bartender, “A Sixpoint, please.” There was a tap on his shoulder. Hesitating, he glanced behind him, a very familiar face grinning cheerfully.

 

“Strange place, isn’t it?” both men smiled with open arms; Peggy laughed lightly as she brought them both into a hug. “It’s been a _long_ , long time, boys.”

 

“See, there’s someone you know,” Steve said softly, poking his side. “It really has been forever. Jeez, how’s everything? You and Dot still doing well?”

 

She clapped her hands together. “We’re fantastic, actually. I’m following her to Hampstead early morning to stay with my parents until New Years,” Peggy took a small sip from the bubbling flute sitting between her fingers. “Enough about me, though ― how’ve you two been getting on? It’ll be about...seven years now?”

 

Bucky stared at his shoes in defeat; he had had enough of this in one day and refused to be “The Ex-Boyfriend” to another one of Steve’s friends ― one who was his own best friend, too.

 

“Yep,” he looked up.

 

“Actually,” Steve shifted behind Bucky, grabbing their forgotten drinks, handing the perspiring can to Bucky. Steve was looking at him in an understanding manner, giving him a subtle head nod before pushing out his own smile for Peggy. “We’ve been pretty okay. Buck’s living in Indiana right now, so he’s just here for the holidays. But, we’re making it work,” he stretched on his feet, kissing his cheek.

 

The sides of Bucky’s lips upturned into a rare, beaming smile he tried to hide from the two of them as Peggy went on. “Oh, that’s so good to hear! Listen, you’ll call me when I’m back in town, alright Steve?” she smiled as he nodded in response. “Great, so nice to see you ― both of you,” Peggy looked back and forth between them before disappearing into the crowd.

 

“Buck,” Steve took a swig of his beer, swishing the bottle around before setting it back down. Behind him, his focus locked in on the brunette making his way towards the bar, posse in tow.

 

He briefly met Tony’s eyes before turning back around to face the bar. “Steve, can we go now?” Bucky muttered out of the side of his mouth.

 

“Uh, yeah. You wanna just leave, or,” Steve was staring at his barely touched drink.

 

“Barnes!” Bucky could feel himself tensing, rubbing his temples. “Oh, fuck me,” he scraped the can from the bar, taking one long swig before wheeling back around. “Anthony.”

 

“Surprise to see you here,” Tony said deadpan, pointing two fingers between them. “I’m sorry,” he remarked sardonically, “Did you not pull a Chris Brown on your beloved boy toy here, or am I remembering it all wrong? Which is unlikely,” He was now speaking directly to Steve, cupping a hand over his mouth, pointing a thumb at Bucky with his other. “Why are you still with this asshole?”

 

Bucky noticed Steve exchange incredulous looks with Tony’s girlfriend; he clenched his fists and crossed his arms all at once. “And how’re you, Stark? Seems Pepper is doing better ever since you almost got her killed. Or, am I remembering _that_ wrong?” Steve and Pepper were visibly cringing now, both taking an uncomfortable swig of their drinks.

 

Tony slowly rolled his eyes, exaggerating his groan. “Looks like that scholarship really worked out for you. You know,” Tony was replicating his stance, forcing the fakest laugh Bucky’d ever heard. “Didn’t I see you yesterday, moppin’ up at that one BP off of I-95, right? Suits you,” he patted him forcibly on the shoulder, “Good job buddy. Really done a lot with your life.”

 

At his wits’ end, Bucky unfolded his arms and licked his lips to take a step forward, but Steve grabbed the back of his jacket.

 

“That’s enough,” Pepper scolded before Steve could get a word out.

 

“Bucky, come on,” Steve wrapped both his arms around Bucky’s, leading them to the left. “Think about this for one second. He’s got a _lot_ of money, you don’t need to be barking up the wrong tree right now.”

 

“Save it for your boyfriend, Barnes,” Bucky felt like he was burning up, his mouth gone dry and vision tunneled. Steve was pulling him towards a flight of stairs. He could still hear them talking in the distance as they started to ascend, Pepper saying, “Every time. You do this every time we go out, Tony.”

 

After a few more brief flights of stairs, they were walking across the less populated roof, Bucky gripping his fingers through his hair on either side. He paced over to the metal railing, leaning back against them carefully.

 

“Are you going to explain what that was about? Or are we back to keeping secrets?” Steve stood beside Bucky, nursing his bottle that was still nearly full.

 

“Oh, shuddup, Steve,” he replied, taking Steve’s drink out from between his lips for a few gulps. “S’about something stupid from senior year,” he handed the bottle back to an annoyed, but unsurprised, Steve.

 

“Okay,” he frowned at his drink, “But what’s this ‘scholarship’ business about? Didn’t think you wanted to go to school, at least that’s what you said.”

 

Bucky leaned his head back to stare at the stars with a sigh. “No, you’re right. I didn’t.”

 

Steve lifted Bucky’s arm to lace it around his waist, leaning into Bucky. With a sigh, “Go on.”

 

He rested his head sideways on top of Steve’s. “Yeah, alright. Remember the science fair that year?” He felt Steve nod. “Really needed that one thousand in cash ― you know how it was.”

 

Steve’s nod was slower this time. “‘Course, that great Stark kid was a shoo-in to win. Everybody knew it,” he took a deep breath. “Deserved it, too. Anyways, I kinda...fixed up his project for ‘em.”

 

“You ― what does that mean?”

 

“Let’s just say that his own, personal AI headset talked like a regular Jersey boy at the judges.” Bucky closed his eyes, anticipating another one of Steve’s moral lectures. But instead, all he could hear in his ear was a snort blurting out of Steve as he slipped out of his hold, Bucky stumbling.

 

His back slid down the railing as he fell to his knees, hunched over himself, beer spilling into a small patch of snow that hadn’t yet been removed (“ _Aw, crud”_ ). A combination of screeching laughter and wheezing erupted from Steve. He was choking over his words as he yelled, “You’re such a fucking idiot, _Christ_ Buck!”

 

Bucky was now just as amused at Steve’s reaction; “That’s probably what the AI said, too.”

 

“Oh my God,” Steve pushed himself upright, patting his chest. “That’s incredible. Wait, so you did win?”

 

“That’s the worst part,” he continued. “I got second place. Tony got third, regardless of...y’know.”

 

Steve looked at him with the smuggest of grins, rubbing his bicep. “Guess that’s why you should play fair then, huh? Karma,” he made a wild gesture, “or something.”

 

“Whatever,” he held Steve’s hand. “Still got the five-hundred in prize money.”

 

“Yeah? What’d you use it for?”

 

Bucky’s eyes traveled away from Steve’s. “I, uh...Remember Halloween?”

 

“I don’t know if I like where this is going…”

 

“Y’should, ‘cause that thing paid itself off long before then,” he met Steve’s eyes again, giving him a wink. “It was the last half I needed for the jacket.”

 

“Bucky!” Steve slapped his chest as he fell into him, eliciting another sharp laugh out of the small man. “Wasn’t that around the time your landlord was threatening to evict you all?”

 

He held Steve in his arms, laughing with him. “Sure, but the thing is ―”

 

“Wait, wait. Hold that thought,” Steve was still trying to calm himself down as he slipped out from Bucky’s hold, shoving his beer into his hands before walking off towards someone he really didn’t recognize, not even from the photos on Steve’s Facebook; curled blonde hair with a long taupe coat, reminded him of Steve’s.

 

His joyful mood vanished while he sipped on the beer, stewing all by himself as he watched the two talking animatedly.

 

“Buck!” Steve waved him over.

 

Unwillingly, Bucky walked towards them, finishing Steve’s drink as he sidled up close next to his boyfriend.

 

“Bucky, this is Rosy,” he said as she smiled, holding a thin paper bag between her hands. “She’s the one I was telling you about that’s gonna be working with Image comics soon. That’s so cool, ain’t it?”

 

He met her smile with an uncomfortable grimace, suddenly ready to go home. “Sure, really cool,” Bucky gave a half-hearted wave.

 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Bucky. Steve mentions you all the time.”

,

“Oh,” his expression softened but his voice gave away his hesitancy, not knowing what to make of her words.

 

Leaning towards Steve, she said hushed, “He’s so much cuter in person.”

 

Steve had a puzzled look on his face as Bucky obviously could still hear her. “Uh, yeah. I guess he is.”

 

Her voice growing softer, he could only loosely pick up what she was telling to Steve that made his eyes go wide. “Is he seeing someone?”

 

“Well, actually ―”

 

“I’m seeing _him_ ,” Bucky spat, grabbing Steve’s hand with a stern look down at him.

 

Steve was looking back at Bucky, releasing a shaky breath, fidgeting with Bucky’s fingers nervously. “Sorta been a thing for uh, seven or so years now,” Steve waved his free hand as soon as Rosy started profusely apologizing, shaking his head. “I don’t really talk about my private life. You didn’t know, not your fault.”

 

He gripped Steve’s hand more firmly, listening to the rambled excuses before leaning down with a real whisper. “About ready to go home, Steve.”

 

“Okay, sweetheart,” Steve said under his breath, letting go of Bucky’s hand briefly to make a ‘time out’ symbol. “Really, it’s fine. We gotta get going though, have some uh,” he glanced at Bucky.

 

“It’s our dog’s birthday,” Bucky smiled.

 

“Right, Lucky’s birthday,” Steve nodded, squeezing his hand, “Think he’s turning about twenty five today, isn’t he, Buck?”

 

“Right you are,” he replied, pointing to Steve excitedly with the empty bottle. “Still gotta order the pizza,” he leaned towards Rosy, “The guy _loves_ mushrooms.”

 

Rosy’s brows had furrowed but still she kept a smile. “Aw, you throw parties for your dog too? My brother use to do that every year growing up for our Shih Tzu, Mitsy.”

 

Bucky fought the immediate urge to roll his eyes, thinking of Clint. “Give her our best regards,” he started to tug Steve towards the exit.

 

“He’s a boy ―”

 

“Uh, see you around school, Rosy!” Steve called as Bucky was already dragging him a few feet away. “Wait Buck, we didn’t even see Wanda!”

 

* * *

 

“Bucky, I’m sorry,” Steve let out a heavy exhale, unlocking the front door of his apartment with a _click_. He flicked the lightswitch, peeling off his jacket and hanging it neatly on the wall coat rack.“That was a lot longer than I meant. I know you didn’t want to be there,” he looked up at him, cupping the back of his neck. “Thanks for sticking it out.”

 

“Anything for you, buddy.” He unfurled his tie with one hand and tossed it onto the couch where he then slumped onto with a groan.

 

Steve was hovering over his jacket, sleeve gripped in his hands. “Hey, what the hell’s this?” He looked like he was on the verge of crying as he frantically gestured at the dry silver glitter, stuck to the seams.

 

Bucky looked over, head still reclined against the couch cushion. “Mm, no idea,” his mouth quivered, fighting a smile.

 

“Are you _positive_ you don’t know?” Steve balled the jacket in his hands, dropping it into the hamper outside his bedroom door.

 

“Probably was from someone at the party,” he let his head fall back, snickering, “Tony’s eccentric. You think he wears body glitter? Could’ve gotten it from him Stevie, watch out.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “You can’t wear glitter…”

 

“‘Course you can. Beck’s always wearing the shit, getting it all over the place. Like, I come home one day to just relax after work and what’s on the couch cushions, and now my face? Glitter, Steve. Damn sparkly, pink, bullshit glitter.”

 

“Bet it looks great on you, dear,” Steve wandered behind the couch, rifling through various boxes. Bucky grumbled, “Damn straight.”

 

“ _Please_ don’t say that ever again,” He dropped one next to Bucky. “Pick out something to watch, okay?” He dragged his fingers through Bucky’s hair as he trailed back towards the kitchen, reaching into the freezer.

 

Ripping the tops off the blue cardboard packaging, he laughed over his shoulder, “Really feel like this is all we’ve been eating since you got here.”

 

Bucky smoothed his hair back into place before picking small stacks of DVDs from the box, discarding them one by one onto the floor with a light clatter each time. “It’s all you make!” he called between reading the titles _Field of Dreams_ and _The Little Mermaid_ , discarding both onto the floor in the growing pile.

 

“Well,” Steve stirred around the tray’s contents with a fork after a couple of minutes. Carefully balancing them on top one another, he filled two mugs with water. Stepping over the tossed about cases, he plopped down next to Bucky, setting the mugs on the coffee table. He placed the lukewarm container down on Bucky’s lap. “‘Cause that’s all you asked for, so that’s _all_ I got,” he looked at him with a smirk.

 

“Y’should know better than to listen to me,” he frowned down at _Casablanca_ , letting it fall into a new pile. Bucky continued to narrow down the selection with one hand, the other blindly stabbing the tray’s contents with a fork. “Why are all these terrible?”

 

Steve shrugged, taking a gulp of water. “A lot of them are Sam’s.”

 

Finally making a decision, Bucky shoved the red-and-green DVD in front of Steve’s face. “Oh ma _Gwod_ , Sweve,” he swallowed a mouthful of chocolate brownie. “I haven’t seen this in so long!” Bucky set his half-eaten meal on the coffee table to shake off his jacket, leaving it with the tie nearby.

 

“ _A Christmas Story_ , huh?” Steve shimmied off the couch, crouching to slide the disc into their second hand DVD player. “I really haven’t either. You remember the part where the kid gets stuck to the pole?” He settled again next to Bucky, stretching out across his lap, snickering as he looked up at Bucky.

 

“Hey, he was triple-dog-dared. You don’t just wimp out on a triple-dog-dare.” Bucky fiddled with Steve’s hair, wishing he could reach the rest of his brownie. “Well, maybe _you_ would,” he smiled down at Steve’s fake pout.

 

“I would _not_ ,” Steve whined, awkwardly twisting his torso to hit Bucky’s knee.

 

Bucky leaned back, nostalgia washing over him throughout each scene until his shaking started to annoy Steve.

 

Steve scrambled to grab Bucky’s socked foot, dangling off the edge of the couch. “Jesus, seriously? What’s with the tap dance?”

 

“ _Steve_ ,” he begged in a close imitation of his boyfriend’s whine, “I wanna do the gingerbread _today_.” Bucky pinched Steve’s cheek, gently shaking his face side to side.

 

“Right now?” Steve used Bucky as leverage, pulling himself upright, still sitting across his lap. He looked at him, huffing an irritated sigh. But, he wasn’t able to hold his facade for too long as he started smiling in that lopsided, toothy way that Bucky adored.

 

“That’s what I said, idiot.” He smiled back, tugging on Steve’s sleeve. “Get offa me.”

 

“ _Fine_ ,” Steve was again carefully tip toeing around the mess Bucky’d made, retorting as he made way into the kitchen, “Can you clean up this damn clutter at least?”

 

Bucky slumped to the floor, sticking his fork back into the brownie. “Uh-huh,” he muttered, tossing _Pulp Fiction_ lazily back into the box along with the rest, one by one until he finished eating.

 

“Buck,” Steve was calling his name again. He looked up to see Steve balancing on that dumb crate he’d been using for over six years at this point, ever since he’d come to terms with the fact he wasn’t getting any taller. “The sugar… It’s too high. Can you get it, please?”

 

He smiled, lifting himself off the floor only to come and rest his elbows on the counter, chin resting in his hands. “S’this why you keep Sam around?” he teased, reveling in Steve’s displeased expression.

 

“No,” Steve had a knee on the counter, “He’s the one putting shit up there in the first place,” his fingers brushed the sack of sugar, “He’s a handful, I tell ya.”

 

“I know the feelin’,” he put himself behind Steve, Bucky’s hands creeping into his jeans on either side of his waist, palms curved along jutting hip bones. “Uh, Buck ― “ Steve looked over his shoulder timidly.

 

“Ready, buddy?” Bucky whispered into his ear before hoisting the little man upwards, who let out a shriek.

 

“God, please don’t drop me like last time, James,” Steve said through a wavering voice, a death grip on Bucky’s wrist as he grabbed the bag with his other hand.

 

“Picked you back up, didn’t I?” he brought Steve down gently, his hands still gripped as he laid his head on Steve’s shoulder. “Good boy, Stevie.”

 

“ _Bucky._ ” Steve huffed as he sat the bag down in front of him, his hands cupping over Bucky’s.

 

“Mhm,” he grunted. Bucky ran one hand up across Steve’s torso, then tracing his jawline with his fingers; his hips gently pressing Steve’s against the countertop.

 

Steve was leaning into Bucky, air softly leaving his mouth. “Don’t leave. Just― just stay here. I need you. Please.”

 

Bucky’s hand wrapped lightly around Steve’s throat, the other around his waist. “But, Steve,” he breathed, grinding against him slowly. “I _really_ want cookies,” Bucky suddenly let go in a fit of laughter, grabbing the sack of sugar from in front of Steve.

 

Steve leaned his forehead against the cabinet, “I hate you.”

 

“No,” Bucky’s voice cracked, “you really don’t.”

 

“You’re right. I don’t,” he jumped off the counter, turning to face Bucky with a scowl. “You’re a fucking jackass though, that’s for sure.”

 

“Language!” Bucky crossed his arms, eyebrows raised.

 

“I just,” Steve raised a fist to his face, failing to mask his laughter, “I’m gonna hit you.”

 

“I’d like to see you try, kid.” He grinned, shaking his head.

 

“Get ready, I ain’t gonna hold back,” Steve sucked in his lips. He tapped his knuckles against his skin. “...Did it hurt?”

 

Bucky doubled over in hysterics, clutching his stomach; both of their faces were turning bright red now before Bucky could speak: “Did it ― “ he wiped a tear from his eye, “I don’t know, Steve ― _did it?_ Oh, please don’t make that face,” Bucky brought him into a hug, shoulders shaking.

 

“I don’t know!” Steve snorted against his neck, snickering. Among Bucky’s boisterous laughs, Steve reeled himself in, speaking in a sincere tone, “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

 

“I’m gonna miss you too, buddy,” Bucky chuckled, though his stomach turned at remembering he was going to have to leave this all behind again.

 

“Hey,” Steve lifted his head, looking Bucky in the eyes. “I need to go find something. Can I trust you with starting these..?”

 

“‘Course,” Bucky flicked Steve’s chin with a finger before leaving his arms, turning to a cabinet at random while Steve left towards the bedroom.

 

All he heard were boxes being dropped and the occasional papers fluttering in the air (“ _Ugh”_ ) while he thoroughly scavenged each cabinet in turn, all ingredients eventually accumulating onto the countertops before Steve finally returns with a huff of his breath and a small box in his hands, brushing a thin layer of dust off the top.

 

Bucky gestured towards the variety of barely-used things, the loose eggs precariously balancing on the flat surface. “Look, I found it all myself!” He smiled, eyeing the shiny blue wrapping paper. “S’that mine? I can tell.”

 

“Just, ignore the paper,” Steve handed the box to him, glancing at the counter. “Good job, Buck! What’re you gonna call your restaurant?”

 

He cleared his throat: “Mason dee la Beety.”

 

Steve stared at him blankly. “What.”

 

“It’s French, Stevie,” Bucky smirked proudly.

 

“No, it’s _not_ ,” he stated, adding with his own smirk, “Ton français est affreux.”

 

“But, it’s ― “ he frowned, confused. “What?”

 

“Quoi?” Steve cocked his head.

 

Bucky furrowed his brows. “Oh, don’t do the thing again, please. I hate this game, you know that.” He held the present up to his ear and shook it. “Ok, gimme a hint, I wanna guess.”

 

“C’est pour vous!” Steve grinned, leaning an arm against the counter, shifting his weight onto one leg. “Ne le secouez pas, _idiot._ ”

 

His face cringed as he shoved the gift onto the counter against the ingredients, an egg falling to the floor with a _crack_ as he mimicked Steve’s pose, ignoring the mess. “Perestan’te razgovarivat,” Bucky grumbled.

 

“What?” Steve’s brows lowered, much like his had.

 

“Kak znat’?” Bucky’s raised in turn.

 

“This ain’t fair, Buck,” Steve crossed his arms.

 

“Da,” he found himself shrugging, “eto spravedlivost.”

 

“Can you just,” Steve grabbed the box, shoving it back into his hands. “It’s something we can both use.”

 

Bucky started to rip at the paper’s seams, “That so?” he eyed Steve briefly before tearing the rest apart, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought until the bare box was all that remained in his hands. His chest tensed and he closed his eyes tight, unable to look at Steve but neither at the tiny, brand new Polaroid camera he held.

 

“Buck,” he felt Steve’s fingers brush over his, “You okay?”

 

The touch let the tears Bucky was holding in trickle over his lashes, clouding his vision when he finally blinked his eyes open. “S’fine,” he whispered.

 

“This wasn’t supposed to be sad,” Steve lovingly caressed his cheeks, taking a step closer to him. It wasn’t the most comfortable position to stand in, as Steve leaned past the box so he could kiss Bucky, but he didn’t mind. “I’m sorry.”

 

Bucky laughed dryly; “ _I’m_ sorry, Steve,” he admitted with a tone of certainty in his voice. He looked at those hurt, blue eyes through clouded vision. “I’m sorry for that day.”

 

With a sigh, Steve took the box from him, setting it down. He outstretched his arms to Bucky. “Come here.”

 

He hesitantly embraced Steve, afraid that feeling him would make his tears uncontrollable. “M’sorry for all the bullshit I give you every single time you come back,” the words were painful to say, both from holding back tears and the way they replayed the memories in his head. “Could’ve done better every new chance you gave me, but I didn’t. Even gave me a chance after I beat the shit outta you...but I’m the idiot, buddy. Not you.”

 

Steve ghosted a trail down his spine, eliciting goosebumps under his touch. He kissed the burn of his neck first, stretched to kiss his moistening cheeks, waited for Bucky to slump over to kiss the creases of his temple. “You’re not _actually_ an idiot, James. An idiot wouldn’t own up to this, ever,” he rooted his fingers through the curly base of Bucky’s hair. “You’ve been holding this in for a long time, haven’t you? Just let it out, honey. This― this is all good. Really good. ”

 

“All I ever thought about was myself, Steve, ‘bout what I wanted,” he exhaled a shaky breath. “S’why I kept pushing you away…” Bucky paused, trying to find the explanation he always had while now avoiding Steve’s stare. “I didn’t wanna be left all alone again. You never ― I never let you get that. I lost my shit instead,” his attempt at a laugh came out as a weak grunt; he kissed the top of Steve’s hair, staying there.

 

“Is this… this is ‘cause of your dad passing?” Steve’s voice was meek, but his hold around Bucky weighed him down, keeping him grounded in reality.

 

“Think so,” he cracked, “yeah.”

 

“I don’t really remember much of my dad, ‘cause I was too little to remember. You know that know already, but,” he breathed into his chest, “After my mom passed, it was like I felt completely alone. I still had you but, when you don’t have your parents anymore, it’s just a different kind of feeling. Really felt like part of me also died when she left. Was angry every day, never wanted to go outside anymore, quit eating out of spite…” he pulled at the fabric on his back, “I get where you’re coming from, Bucky, I-I don’t wanna feel alone either anymore. Maybe that’s _why_ I gave you so many chances? ‘Cause, pal, I’ve felt the same exact way as you. Only difference is I’m too weak to actually do anything myself that would hurt you, to that extent at least.”

 

Bucky pulled away, still holding Steve’s elbows. “That’s no real excuse to gimme another chance, y’know. Least I can do is...be a little less shitty this time,” he looked down, shaking his head. “Steve, I…”

 

He paused for a moment, sucking his lips in until Steve finally asked “What, Buck?”

 

“...I can’t take you seriously with that shirt on, Steve.”

 

Steve peered down, huffing out a soft chuckle. “God. Forgot I was wearing this damn thing.”

 

Pinching the hot pink fabric between his fingers, Bucky cracked a smile. “Looks good on you.”

 

“You sure about that?” He flicked the side of his neck, peering behind Bucky. “If you still wanted to make those gingerbread you were so adamant about, we should probably start that now,” he said with a groan, pointing at the floor, “Buck, _please_ clean that up.”

 

The edges of the wrapping paper were starting to become soaked in the egg whites. “Can’t I open my camera first?” he lightly kicked the paper away before grabbing the box off the counter, running a fingernail along the taped edge.

 

“Yeah, okay, fine. Move,” Steve opened the cabinet under the sink, pulling out a roll of paper towels. He ripped off a large section, running it under the sink, grabbing the bottle of cheap dish soap. “Also, Buck,” he looked him in the eyes before crouching to his knees, “We’re not done with this conversation, okay? Still some more things we gotta talk about, just not now.”

 

“Sure, sure,” he was sliding the styrofoam-packed camera out of the box, the instruction manual falling to the floor (“ _Buck, please”_ ) as he started fiddling with the buttons, clicking it to life. Bucky glanced at Steve with a smirk before fishing through the box for the sample pack of film, closing it into the camera with a soft _click_.

 

“Hey, Stevie,” he said, raising the viewfinder to his eye.

 

“What’s up?” Steve raised his head, wrapping and packaging surrounding him like a collection. His piece of paper towel was soaked in egg whites, a small sliver of brown shell stuck in his hair.

 

The flash flickered in Steve’s eyes, making him cringe; the whirring of the printing photo mixed with Bucky’s cackling laughter mocked his yell of fright: “Christ, Buck, _why?!_ ”

 

“You just look so cute playing house,” Bucky was pulling the picture out as it finished printing.

 

Steve narrowed his eyes as he stood. He looked like he had something to say, his mouth opening only to close as he turned on his heel, dragging the trash can closer. He bundled up all the papers, setting the instructions on top of the camera’s box with a tap, shoving everything else into the garbage bag.

 

“Don’t make that face ― c’mere, look at yourself,” he flapped the photo in Steve’s direction. He mosied over beside Bucky, taking the picture from him, holding it between two fingers.

 

“Oh yeah, that’s a keeper. Should enter that in a photography contest, Buck. Heard you’re good at rigging those kind of things,” he leaned against his shoulder, peeking at him.

 

Bucky turned the camera around. “That hurts, Steve,” he tilted his head towards Steve’s, stretching his arms out in front of him to awkwardly snap another photo ― both of them prepared for the bright flash this time.

 

“You did it to yourself,” Steve teased while the photo slowly came out, revealing a horribly centered picture with only half of their faces in it. “Aw Buck, don’t waste the film. This stuff ain’t cheap…”

 

Pinching the print between his fingertips, Bucky was smiling anyways. “I think it’s pretty good, especially the egg in your hair,” he pointed.

 

“What?” Steve snatched the photo from him, bringing it to the tip of his nose, staring intently. He felt through his hair, the sticky shell clinging to his knuckle. “Why do you never tell me when I have crap all over me. Do you get off on seeing me looking like an idiot or something?”

 

Bucky was already stuffing the photo behind the ID in his wallet. “Sometimes,” he noticed the old, torn polaroid already there and plucked it out halfway by the corner; it was falling limp in the middle where the tape held it together. “Hey, maybe we can take a new one tomorrow. A good one.”

 

“God, I forgot about this,” Steve delicately shimmied the photo into his cupped palm. His tone suddenly shifted, turning low and flat. “I feel like such a dick.”

 

“You kidding?” he took the photo back, sliding it behind the one they just printed, “I deserved every embarrassing second of it. Only sorry that you didn’t get to have your stupid pancakes.”

 

“Yeah, you did,” he stated, “Really wasn’t cool though what I did, at all.” He started cracking himself up, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. “Least your sister had a good meal, or a few.”

 

Bucky laughed with him before facing the table of ingredients. “Y’wanna grab some more eggs?”

 

Half an hour later, Steve was sitting on the counter, perusing all of the photos they had been taking that night: Bucky wearing Steve’s Christmas apron while mixing the batter, Steve licking the spoon, the both of them cheek to cheek with flour smeared across their faces.

 

Leaning over the open oven, Bucky brought out the long tray of gingerbread cookies, their scent wafting through the air; Steve started kicking his feet back and forth.

 

“...What is that?” Steve gawked between Bucky and the somewhat burnt cookies residing in the furthest corner of the tray. “ _Bucky_.”

 

He propped the tray on the stovetop next to Steve and put his hands on his hips, admiring their creations. “Beautiful, huh?” Bucky moved to grab the camera and tubes of colorful frosting from behind Steve, shoving them in the crux of his elbow.

 

“I don’t,” Steve leaned across the counter, holding a cookie in his hand, his fingertips instantly turning a bright red. “I don’t think dicks are very Christmas-y,” he shoved the vaguely phallic-inspired gingerbread in front of his face, “ _Buck_.”

 

Bucky gently pushed the cookie back towards Steve’s face, lifting the camera to his own with one hand. “Act like you like it,” he directed. Steve sighed but stuck his tongue out anyways, burning it on the tip as Bucky took the photo, his grin visible from beneath the Polaroid. “That’s my favorite,” he clicked.

 

“Of course it is,” he said, biting the shaft in half. He pulled the white frosting from Bucky, giving it a once over, smirking. “This would work perfectly, huh?”

 

“That’s not very _Christmas-y_ of you, Steve,” Bucky smirked back. “Hey, just remembered ― I got an early gift for you, too,” he dropped the rest of the frosting into Steve’s arms and left for the bedroom. There he flipped open his suitcase, fishing around between the now-wrinkled sweaters to pull out two slim red-and-black packages, rushing back to the kitchen to see that Steve was now sitting on the island, a plate of cookies in his lap and red frosting in hand. He was humming to himself ‘Silver Bells’, nodding his head along with the tunes.

 

“Hanukkah sameach,” Bucky leaned over Steve’s shoulder, wrapping one arm around his chest and revealing the small packs of baseball cards in his hands: _Archives Baseball_ was boldly printed across each one.

 

“Oh man! Haven’t seen baseball cards in years,” he craned his neck, setting the plate down beside him, tube of frosting on top. “You know all those times when I told you I couldn’t come over ‘cause I was ‘too busy’?”

 

Bucky chuckled, “Jesus, Steve, is that where your lunch money went?”

 

“Yeah…” He scratched the back of his neck. “You remember that hobby store that use to be near my place? Every Wednesday they use to restock, sometimes got vintage sets too and autographed cards. Would spend all week scraping together what loose change I could to get at least one pack, maybe a comic too,” Steve glanced past Bucky, “Think I might still have a box full of the things. Should see if they’re worth anything, honestly.”

 

Still hunched over Steve, he thought for a moment. “So...I gave you half my lunch every day over _baseball cards?_ ” Bucky asked incredulously, watching him tear open one of the packs while he still held the other.

 

“Well, you weren’t gonna just let me starve. What was I supposed to do, say no to a free meal?” Steve snickered, sorting through each individual card. “Oh, nice! Look, Buck, Jackie Robinson!” He exclaimed, shoving the card against his nose.

 

Bucky’s went cross eyed  trying to see the card at such a close range. “What’s with you and bein’ a Dodgers fan? We’re from New York, Steve. We’re Yankees.”

 

“ _Brooklyn_ Dodgers, Buck. They weren’t always in LA,” he stopped on the portrait of a player in a pinstriped uniform, “Here, you can have this one.”

 

“Oh, shit!” he plucked the card from Steve’s hand. “There y’go, someone from a _real_ team,” he stared longingly at the card that read _Bucky Dent_ under the player’s picture, sighing.

 

“You just like him ‘cause you share names,” he noticed Steve watching him, one brow raised. “Uh, you in love with this guy?”

 

“I had the biggest crush ― “ he stopped, biting his lip. “He was a great hitter,” Bucky finished.

 

“Whatever gets your motor running, Buck, I guess,” Steve shifted his position, stuffing the cards into his front pocket. He hopped off the kitchen’s island, pulling out a half empty carton of milk from the fridge, pouring two glasses. Carrying one in each hand, he gestured towards Bucky with his favorite mug. “Think there’s still some of that movie left. Might be able to catch the Santa part if we’re lucky.”

 

Scooping up the plate of messy cookies with one hand, dripping with various colors of gooey sparkle frosting, he traveled back towards the couch, Bucky following behind.

 

“Y’know the weird kid in that scene? Always reminded me of you,” he snickered, taking his seat on the couch again. Steve stretched out his legs, feet barely reaching the edge of the coffee table. He lifted the plate to Bucky, puffing his cheeks.

 

“Hope you shoot your eye out, Buck.”

 

Bucky grabbed one of the dick-shaped cookies accented with melting white buttercream, sticking his tongue out at Steve.

 

“Hot,” Steve cooed dryly with a yawn.

 

With a half smile, he hooked one arm around Steve, leaning against him. He could feel the exhaustion settling in his body from the moment he sat down, the comfortable silence washing over them making him drowsy, eyes fluttering to stay open.

 

“Hey, you falling asleep on me?” Steve poked his ribs. “‘Least finish your cookie first.”

 

“Nuh uh,” he mumbled, his hand with the cookie lazily resting across his chest.

 

“...You sure?” He said with a faint giggle.

 

Bucky let out a long, muted breath; he’d thought of a reply, wanted to say “ _Positive_ ” but he felt himself drifting off as his eyes grew heavy and his sight turned dark.

 

All he heard before entering a much needed nap was, “Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

 

* * *

 


	5. That Time They Spent Christmas Together Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't hear you, you're too far away  
> I can't see you, the light is in my face  
> I can't touch you, I wouldn't if I could
> 
> I can't love you how you want me to
> 
> Here's the best part distilled for you  
> But you want what I can't give to you  
> Your hands are gravity while my hands are tied
> 
> I can't love you how you want me to
> 
> Who do you think you are?  
> Who do you think I am?  
> What do you wanna say?  
> What do you think will change?
> 
> Maybe I'm afraid of you  
> I'll bite the hand that feeds me  
> Bite the hand that feeds me  
> Bite the hand
> 
> Bite the hand that needs me  
> Bite the hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Song is ["Bite the hand"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o82p4mm_Nsk) by boygenius.

* * *

 

It felt like just yesterday Bucky was staring down at his phone, buzzing with excitement as he marked down the days he’d be staying in Brooklyn on his calendar. And now, he was hunched over the couch in Steve’s apartment, violently shaking him as his child self made a reappearance. He grabbed his slender shoulders eagerly as the soft hum of Elvis Presley’s voice traveled from the speakers of the record player tucked away in a shelf.

 

The air smelt of freshly brewed coffee. It was still dark out, and if they hadn’t strung up a pack of cheap off-white lights a few days prior, there’d be no light at all in the room; the bulbs kept flickering but Bucky didn't mind. He was too excited to care about anything other than waking up Steve and getting the day started.

 

" _Stevie,_  wake _up_!" he was trying to keep himself from jumping out of his goddamn skin, but as Steve’s' eyes slowly peeled open and squinted, he couldn't hold back his giddy giggles anymore. "It's Christmas ― Jesus, get up, you idiot!"

 

"Why are you _so_ loud," Steve rasped under a half breath, forehead creased as he smacked his lips. His slender arms snaked around Bucky's neck, clumsily tugging him closer, holding the much too jacked up on caffeine Bucky in place.

 

"Because―" he kissed him, soft and drawn out, hugging him back before lifting the limp idiot from his slumber and onto his feet "―we have presents to open, c’mon.” He left Steve standing there in a daze (" _The sun’s not even up, Buck_ ”) to hurry towards the kitchen, grabbing the now-full commemorative black-and-white Stark Industries mug from the drip tray.

 

“Start with the big one wrapped in the Sports headlines,” Bucky called, swiftly starting a second cup on the coffee maker, beaming as he watched Steve. Ever since he started planning this trip, he’d been on edge. It started off as being pure excitement, but as he got closer to New York, it only washed over into anxiety land. This might be the last time he ever spent Christmas with Steve. God knows he always fucked everything up.

 

Except today. Today was supposed to be happy. Free of fucking anxiety. Free of fuck ups.

 

He wanted to travel back in time today and pretend it was like before he went and ruined the only good thing he’d ever had going for him. Like they were still eighteen and everything was _perfect._

 

“Hoping for a pony,” Steve remarked with a cross of two fingers, groggily stumbling towards the sparse stack of crudely wrapped boxes. He plopped down on the floor, legs crossing over one another as he hauled the present into his lap, momentarily glancing back towards Bucky. “Come join me,” he pat the spot beside him.

 

He grabbed the two mugs, coffee dripping down his wrist as he sped back to Steve. “All y’had was hazelnut,” Bucky handed him the white mug and kneeled down, sipping his own.

 

“Sorry, don’t really like my coffee bitter. Only like you that way,” Steve angled the cup in his hand as he gave it a once over, snorting harshly. “Like your choice in mugs, by the way,” he cocked his head with a teasing smirk, leaning in to steal another kiss. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

 

“Merry Christmas,” he reciprocated the kiss, savored it. Then he glared down at Steve's mug. “Why’ve you got one of those, anyways?”

 

“Actually,” he shoved the mug into Bucky’s free hand, pushing himself up with a hop. Bucky watched him trail back towards the kitchen, pulling something free from the fridge door. Crossing his legs a second time, he leaned into Bucky’s side. Pinched between his fingers was a metallic red card, a photo of Pepper and Tony sitting either side on a mall Santa’s lap lazily transferred to the front. “He sent out cards to everyone from our graduating class this year. Came in a box plastered with ‘Stark Industry’ stickers… Felt more like an _advert_ than anything.”

 

“Didn’t send _me_ one,” Bucky handed the mug back, sharing a knowing smile with Steve. “C’mon, open it already.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Steve mumbled into his coffee, stretching his arm out towards the table. With a finger looped under the loose edges of the paper, he was looking at Bucky again. “You know you didn’t have to get me anything.”

 

Bucky leaned back on his palms, legs extended in front of him. “Neither did _you_ ,” he gestured at the messily wrapped box for Steve to continue.

 

Ripping the rest of the newspaper off, Steve turned a slim box over in his hands to reveal a detailed, colorful illustration in the center accompanied by the name Wacom printed plainly next to it. His breath caught in his throat as he continued to exam the box in the dim light, his head shaking. “Oh my God, you _didn’t_.”

 

“You were whining so much about your old busted one,” he said through a wide grin, “So, y’know... pictionary’ll be a lil easier.”

 

“Oh yeah, this’ll definitely come in handy for Pictionary,” Steve said with a huff, rolling his eyes. He steadily set the box in front of them, careful not to rattle its contents around, patting its top twice gently. He shifted his weight onto his knees as he slid onto Bucky’s lap, arms loosely hung around shoulders. “You know, this is perfect timing too, ‘cause I still got a project to finish but the cord of my tablet just snapped in half the other day, so―”

 

Bucky cupped both sides of Steve’s face, lifting his chin to pull him into a long, quiet kiss; the sun was starting to peek through closed blinds, the needle of the record player lifting itself to the beginning again at the same time Bucky finally pulled back.

 

“What’s―“ his cheeks were blotched with shades of pink. He avoided Bucky's staring, instead focusing on something off in the distance.“When did you become so romantic again?”

 

He watched his eyes, how shy he was, the way his long lashes fluttered as he tried to bring himself to look back at Bucky. Steve wasn't the only one feeling flustered. Finally, Bucky hummed, "Get offa me," he nudged Steve, "and pick another present to open."

 

Bucky’d known Steve long enough that he could read his lips from fifty miles away (which made cheating on tests _so easy_ ), The same went for his facial expressions; he knew if his nostrils flared and his tongue was moving to lick his lips, it probably meant he wanted to talk about something serious. Or, if his left brow was lower than the other and his cheek was raised, _probably_ meant Bucky did something stupid. _Again_.

 

So he knew Steve was trying to fight back a frown. He could see the disappointment flash quickly before his eyes before he forced it away, trying to distract himself with Bucky’s orders.

 

Crawling back to his earlier spot, he tucked his knees under his chin and dragged another box towards his feet, this time smaller. Flatter. Wrapped in green tissue paper, an oversized reflective bow taped to the top for extra dramatic effect. “This another tablet too?”

 

Moving himself to pluck the needle off the record and change it out for something new, he looked back at Steve with a wrinkle to his eyes. "Real cute, big guy," he mumbled as he trailed a finger across his album collection (between Steve and Sam, they had a decent size selection, nothing in comparison to Bucky though, not to _gloat_ or anything), carefully flipping a plain black record on the table before scooting next to Steve.

 

"Kinda," Steve gestured with his free hand before tearing through the tissue, lifting the top off the small box, "depressing music for Christmas, don't you think?"

 

"S'classic, Stevie. It's Sea Change, by Be―"

 

"I know what it is. I _own_ it, stupid."

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. He nudged him with his elbow. "Why do you take so damn long to open things?"

 

"Are you gonna let me take my time and enjoy this, or are you gonna rush me and be a jerk ass?"

 

"Think I'm gonna go with the second one."

 

Steve huffed. He pulled out a small key chain, dangling it by its metal loop. He saw a twitch of a smile growing back across his face. “Always gonna be your Duke, huh.”

 

“S’long as I’m your Hawk, buddy.”

 

Steve gave his shoulder a squeeze before pulling a present out from behind the side table; an upright box, awkwardly wrapped with a snowflake print. He dropped it on his lap. “‘Course you are. Hold on, don’t open that yet,” Steve ran towards the bedroom, calling out, “where’d you put the camera?”

 

Bucky shook the gift suspiciously as he watched Steve run around like he'd left the stove on or something. “Kitchen, Steve,” he yelled to him as he immediately turned out of the bedroom towards the counter tops, slipping on his socks.

 

“Thanks Buck,” he replied, grabbing the camera hurriedly. Steve threw himself back on the floor, his knees knocking with Bucky’s own. Through a low grunt and tensed eyes, he watched as Steve’s smile grew dangerously wide, camera pressed to his face. He waved a hand, “Go on. Open it.”

 

Slowly, Bucky ripped pieces off at random until he saw a terrible, small face smiling up at him through its plastic packaging; “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he groaned, flash nearly blinding him, “It’s _you_!”

 

Steve removed the photo, giving it a light shake. His giggling already starting, he handed the picture to Bucky. “Now, I’m always with you. You know… it’s small enough to fit in a bag. You can take me _everywhere_ you go, Buck. How great’s that?” He quietly added, “also, language.”

 

He was already tearing the box from its cardboard backing, the miniature Stay Puft Marshmallow Man falling into his lap. “It’s...great. Perfect.” Bucky picked it up and tugged one of its chubby arms back and forth with a small squeak of the hinge each time. “Really dunno what to say,” his mouth contorted, trying to stifle the laughter that threatened to come out as he stared at the ridiculous face painted on the doll.

 

“Originally I was gonna get you one of those fancy ghost traps. You know, an actual replica and not just a milk carton. But,” Steve shrugged, pulling the other arm upwards, “Thought this was more suiting.”

 

"'course. Much rather have a mini you than an actual replica of something badass from my second favorite movie of all time. Thank you so much, Stevie," he leaned forward to kiss his forehead, setting the doll aside.

 

Steve snorted. "I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not."

 

"I'm being sarcastic."

 

Steve flicked his cheek. "You better put that on a shelf and send me proof. I swear, I see you selling that thing on eBay..."

 

He ruffled Steve's hair before pushing himself to stand up. "Gonna keep him safe, bud. Promise. I'll be right back, gotta take a whiz. Been up all morning drinking nothing but coffee."

 

"You should _eat_ something too, Buck."

 

"Nah. Coffee's better," he gave him a thumbs up before closing the door and locking it. As soon as he was in there, all alone and not preoccupied with Christmas music or fucking with Steve’s Keurig, his mind started racing. He leaned over the sink, both his hands threading through his greasy hair.

 

God, he really needed another shower. Really _really_ needed another smoke. And, most of all, _needed_ to stop fucking staring at a pack of replaceable blades Steve’d bought for his razor.

 

What was he _doing_? Was he going to start cutting himself now? Why not dye his hair black and throw on some MCR while he was at it (not that he didn’t actually own a MCR album, or two…). He shook his head, cupping his hands under the faucet as he let cold water pool into his palms.

 

Not to mention stealing your friend’s blades that he uses to shave his face, to cut yourself, in his house, is a pretty shitty thing to do.

 

He splashed his face, over and over again until the thoughts passed. For now at least. His next mistake was looking up at himself in the mirror, trying to ignore how bloodshot his eyes were. How could Steve even look at him, let alone kiss him right now? He looked like a garbage fire mess extreme. Bless his heart.

 

You know, Bucky, he was a master at bullshitting, able to pull himself out of any sticky situation with a bit of smooth talking, amped up charisma and smooth persuasion― worked on everyone, from his gullible teachers that fell for the sick grandmother trick to  his own mom that was too sweet on him to say no when he begged to stay home for the day.

 

You can’t bullshit to yourself though. It wasn’t going to work on his own distorted thoughts though, because he _knew_ he wasn’t okay. He knew his brain was being held hostage as some overbearing dark cloud forced in sprinkles of self-hatred, an appreciation for self torture, and a heck ton of doubt.

 

He could trick the world into thinking he was fine. He could fool his own boyfriend into thinking he was _actually_ getting better and working on himself. But, Bucky knew the truth. And, the truth was, he didn’t know how to fix himself.

 

“Buck.” Steve’s voice made him jump. He quickly turned off the faucet and ran a towel over his face. He could hear that his phone was ringing, sounding an awful lot like the Skype tone for video calls.

 

“Hold on,” he twisted the handle, lock popping as he creaked the door open slowly, cocking his head. He had two choices now. Break Steve’s heart now and forever by continuing to lie to him, or break his heart now, but only temporarily, and tell him the raw truth. Maybe ignoring the problem for a few more days would help him decide.

 

“What’s up?”

 

He waved the phone in front of him. Sure enough, the Skype logo was displayed bright and clear. “Your ma’s trying to call you.”

 

“Ah, shit. Okay, uh,” he looked back towards the bathroom, but then against his better judgement, he spat into his hand and smoothed back his hair (much to Steve’s disgust, and his own). He grabbed it from him, clicking the green call button.

 

Within seconds, the unmoving opaque color blended into the smiling faces of his mom and sister. It sounded like a party was going on in the background, an abundance of people talking back and forth, some laughing.

 

They cheerfully waved at them, his mom exclaiming, "Hi sweetheart! Oh, where's my Stevie boy? I can't see him, get him in frame."

 

Bucky raised his brows at Steve before he was tugging him into his side, hand resting against his chest on the other side. “Right here, ma,” he rubbed him, whispering, “say hi.”

 

Watching them in the small screen in the corner, he could see Steve’s cheeks starting to turn that familiar shade of pink they always did, and it made him smile something wicked.

 

"Hi Ms. Barnes. Hey Bec."

 

"Hey Steve. Merry Christmas!" she cooed.

 

"Oh, uh, thanks," he nervously scratched the back of his neck. But, then Rebecca’s eyes were flickering to Bucky, and she said, "What're you grinning about over there?"

 

Having everyone’s attention on him (including Steve’s) made his smile immediately falter, and instead, he felt incredibly sick to the stomach. He only pulled Steve closer, for comfort, and as he was opening his mouth to say something, Steve clumsily gripped his chin and pulled him into a kiss.

 

That only made his stomach actually churn.

 

“We’re just happy to be spending Christmas together, is all,” Steve chuckled, and Bucky (awkwardly) tried to follow suit.

 

Steve kissing him, and in front of his mom and sister, meant they’d know they were serious again. And, fuck, if he did anything to ruin this relationship (for the millionth time), they’d come after his head so quick.

 

His mom loudly gasped, while his sister on the other hand remained in pure silence. His ears were burning up, it felt like someone had dumped lava on them. He shifted on his feet.

 

"Ma, Bec. Stevie and I are, uh," he blinked. He could do this. Tell the truth. Breathe, and do the right thing. "We’re doing okay. We're doing okay, for once."

 

"Aw, I'm happy for you both. You best treat that boy right, James. I'm serious. He doesn't deserve the hell you've put him through."

 

Bucky hung his head. What did he expect. His family hadn’t been so quick to forgive as Steve. Ugh, he didn't need this speech again. Not on Christmas. Not when he was trying to feel happy.

 

“I know, ma.”

 

Then, Steve coming to the rescue, added, “he is. He’s been a sweetheart.” Bucky glanced at him. Steve grinned back, taking his hand into his own.

 

“Hey,” Bucky wanted to desperately change the conversation and get the focus _off_ of them. “Where are you guys? Seems pretty busy over there,” he tried to peer behind Rebecca, who kept moving back and forth on her feet.

 

“We’re at David’s,” Rebecca said, finally, with a tired laugh. “They got the whole family over and everything. Did you know he has eleven cousins, on just his mom’s side?”

 

“Did not know that, no.”

 

“Me either. Wait, hold on,” Rebecca turned around as she called off into the distance. “David! Come say hi to Bucky and his boyfriend!”

 

A few minutes later, David was shyly peering around Rebecca, waving at them both. Bucky sucked in his lips. He’d only met David once before, back when she’d first started dating the guy. He was nice, from what he could tell, but he really knew nothing about him.

 

“Hey man. Long time no see.”

 

“Very long time. How’ve you been?”

 

“Fine, fine.”

 

“I hear you’re in New York for the holiday?”

 

He nodded. “Yep. Visiting him,” he leaned his head against Steve’s.

 

“And that’s…” David started, only for Rebecca to finish with, “Steve. They’ve been inseparable since they were like, what? How old were you again?"

 

"Since he was six, Bec."

 

"Wow,” David chimed in, seeming like he was genuinely impressed.” And you aren't sick of each other yet?"

 

"Nope." But then Steve had to add, "he's an annoying asshole, but I don't know what I'd do without him."

 

" _Steve_ ," Bucky whined and Steve moved to kiss him again. He’d kissed him before in front of Rebecca. Hell, she’d caught them doing a lot worse before, so he didn’t feel skeeved out in front of her. But, kissing in front of his mom, and some dude he’s probably said twenty words to in his entire lifetime? Uncomfortable to the max. There was no way he was going to push Steve away though. Bucky was greedy when it came to his lips.

 

Winnie, clearing her throat, which was their cue to knock it the fuck off, asked, “What’re you boys up to today?”

 

“Actually,” he looked at Steve. “I was thinking we could go for a drive around our old neighborhood. How’s that sound, Stevie?”

 

“Really?” he met his eyes and he could see his dimples forming.

 

“That sounds like it’ll be a fun time.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Drinking from his metal thermos (Steve only let him have water, weaning him off of coffee for the rest of the day after he'd had four cups already), he peered past Steve and out the window.

 

As much as he did want to drive down here, and had that in mind for quite some time, it also worked as a good excuse to get off the phone with his mom. After Rebecca and her boyfriend had left to go be social with his parents, his own mom wouldn’t leave.

 

She kept asking a hundred questions per minute:

 

  
_“So, you boys really are back together?”_

 

_“Yes, mom. We are.”_

 

_“But, you’re still living in Indiana, right?”_

 

_“Yes, mom. I am.”_

 

_“And, Steve, you’re in school?”_

 

_“Yes Ms. Barnes.”_

 

_“Studying what again?”_

 

_“Working towards my bachelor in fine arts.”_

 

 _“That’s so great sweetheart. And, you still live in Brookl_ ―”

 

“ _Okay, we gotta get going before the sun sets ma.”_

 

_“But, it’s not even noon yet, James.”_

 

_“Yeah, well, if we keep talking to you, it’ll be midnight before you know it.”_

 

They were sitting in Bucky’s car, parked on the side of the road in their old neighborhood. They were directly outside of Steve’s old place and could see Bucky’s right down the street. The snow was falling down heavily and, Bucky was happy it was a white Christmas. Sometimes when it didn’t snow and the grass was still visible, it felt like fakemas. What was Christmas without snow, anyway?

 

 _Anyways_ , he thought this idea would be a fun trip down memory lane. Remember where they started. But, instead, seeing Steve’s old house only brought back bitter memories, for them both. At first. 

 

Steve had been sitting there in silence since they arrived, leaning on his arm and looking intently out the window. He wanted to give him his time, but now he felt like he should ask to make sure he was still okay. So he reached over and cupped his hand over Steve’s knee.

 

"What're you thinking about?"

 

Steve shook his sleeve, fidgeting in his seat. His legs were kicked up on the dash. “I still think about― what it'd be like if we never met. I mean, we grew up on the same street but, what're the odds we'd still meet? Or rather, would become friends and," he looked at him, "create this much history by the time we're twenty five."

 

"You're still glad we met though, right?"

 

"'course. Buck, I'm not sure about a lot of things in my life but," he traced over the back of Bucky’s palm, "meeting you wasn't a mistake. I don't care how rough it's been for us. The fact that we could've never met, or gotten along, terrifies me."

 

"I'm right here though― we _did_ meet, Stevie. You're kinda sitting in my car, holding my hand."

 

Steve chuckled at that. "You're not going anywhere?"

 

Bucky held his breath. No, he wasn’t. He’d always be there for Steve.

 

"Not planning to."

 

“Okay, good. Come here,” and then Steve leaned in closer to kiss him. “Hey.”

 

"Hey."

 

"You remember that time we got that baseball stuck in," Steve angled himself to look directly ahead of them, pointing, "that tree over there?"

 

"Oh, Jesus, yeah. Same one we carved our initials into too.”

 

“You’re right, oh my God.”

 

“Yep. And then you―”

 

"I tried to climb that damn tree. Jumped on your back and started schooching up the trunk 'til my mom came out."

 

"She was _so_ mad, Stevie. Face redder than the lipstick she wore. She even called my mom and told her I _forced_ you up there, so I got in extra trouble thanks to you."

 

Steve pinched his cheek. "We haven't always had the brightest ideas, huh?"

 

"You _think_?" Bucky teased, then he snorted.

 

"What's so funny?"

 

"We got plastered for the first time in your mom's room 'cause she had that walk in closet we could hide in."

 

"Now _that_. Ugh, that was stupid. Her clothes all reeked of cheap booze for months after that."

 

"Yeah, well, not my fault someone spilled half their beer into the fuckin' carpet."

 

"It was your _idea_ to drink in the first place, jackass."

 

"And you said you were curious. Assistant to the jackass."

 

Bucky sighed, and for the first time in forever, he genuinely felt content. Sitting next to the love of his life, reminiscing over memories that didn't entirely suck. "What else did we do there?"

 

"First... first time I ever watched Alien was there. You just barged in through the front door while I was in the middle of a shower," he looked at Bucky with a half smirk, "and you almost barged into the bathroom too. We had to watch it after my mom went to sleep on your old laptop that was a piece of junk."

 

"I remember that. DVD kept skipping every five seconds and the audio was horrible 'cause one of the speakers had blown out."

 

"Yeah. It was miserable. I hated that movie after that. Thanks to you."

 

"You're welcome," Bucky kissed the shell of his ear. "We use to come over here to take shelter from Bec and her annoying friends. Skipped out on so many tea parties thanks to our safe haven."

 

Steve laughed. "Vice versa though. Use to always stay the night at your place when my mom was pissed at me so I didn't have to deal with her yelling."

 

"Now, what could anyone ever get mad at you for?"

 

"Oh, I don't know," Steve started to count on his hands. "Daydreaming in class, socking a nine year old in the jaw, telling a police guy to fuck off. I could go on."

 

Bucky stared at him, blank. "Rather you didn't. You're ruining the perfect image I got of you, Stevie."

 

"Oh no. I'm _not_ perfect? Shit."

 

Bucky grabbed him and pulled him closer, ruffling through his hair as he met his lips. “Just remembered something else we did in that house."

 

"What?"

 

"First time I sucked your dick."

 

Steve smacked him across the chest. "Oh my God, _don't_."

 

"What!" Bucky exclaimed, cackling to himself. "Thought we were sharing memories here!"

 

"Not _those_ kinds."

 

"Why not? Why you so shy whenever we talk about sex, Steve? You ain't shy when we're fucking, by any means."

 

Steve pressed his tongue to his cheek. "Because."

 

"Because?" he poked his cheek, where his tongue was. "Talking about it get you all hot and bothered?"

 

"More so just bothered than hot."

 

" _Talk_ to me."

 

Steve folded his arms across his chest. "You really wanna talk about this?"

 

"I'm trying to turn over a new leaf and," he huffed, "trying to be all ears for you, Steve. And open too. Not fair if you expect me not to hide my shit when you're doing the same thing to me."

 

"Guess I see your point there." he nodded before he leaned further back into his seat. "I feel uncomfortable talking, or joking, about sex, with you specifically, because every time we've screwed in the past, it's always ended the same."

 

"...meaning?"

 

"You act like I'm your reoccurring one night stand. We fuck and then you try to still keep us as 'just friends'. And you keep doing it to me. My fault for always falling for it but― there's always a part of me hoping you'll change."

 

"Steve. You're not thinking that's what― the other night was, _are_ you?"

 

"I don't know. I honestly thought you ditched when you didn't come back in. I mean, fuck, you were acting so cold and distant, wouldn’t even take my scarf. And right before that, you were being sweet and kissing me and holding me." He was looking out the window again. "I sometimes regret ever taking our relationship to... to this."

 

"To this?" he parroted.

 

"Sex." He looked back at him. "It's like in the beginning, it was puppy love. Sweet enough to give you a cavity. You were like a gentleman outta the forties; holding open doors, pulling out my chair, taking me on dates and hiding love letters in my locker. Then we started having sex and―  it was like that became the basis of what we were. Our date nights turned into us finding some place to fuck, our letters were all about getting each other off. I know it was probably a mix of first love honeymoon buzz and hormones, but," he sighed.

 

"After you broke us up, that's still what you wanted. I was always your two AM booty call and you know I can't say no to you. And it was like nothing ever changed about us because we still made out, and you _still_ would whisper about how much you loved me."

 

Bucky took in a deep breath. "I've been selfish."

 

"You have."

 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's not like that anymore though, Steve. And, I don't regret us ever... becoming sexual. Ain't gonna deny there were times I was just pent up and needed something to fuck that wasn't my hand but― Jesus, Steve, I never stopped caring about you. That’s why I’d say that. Been in love with you since I was fourteen, that's never gone away."

 

"But you never wanted a relationship again."

 

"And I told you why. Never stopped loving you. But I couldn’t do a relationship. Simple as that."

 

"I know, and," he squeezed him, pulling him closer to kiss his cheek, "I'm glad you did, honey. But I'm being honest too. You've made me feel like shit for years, so I'm still a little on edge 'cause it feels like this is going to be the same damn thing all over again."

 

"Steve."

 

"What?"

 

"Can I ask you something?"

 

"Why've you stuck around? After everything I've done to you," he looked at him and that's when he realized how blurred his vision was. He was crying. Again. Someone must’ve been cutting onions nearby.

 

He didn't respond for a long minute. "Because you're my home. Don't have anywhere else to go. If I got rid of you, I'd have nothing. And," he looked out the window for a second time, longer now though, "lot easier trying to patch something up than having to start completely from scratch."

 

"Okay, can I ask you a part two to that question?" He wiped the heel of his palm against his eyes.

 

"Is _that_ your question?"

 

Bucky sucked in his lips until Steve smiled at him, pinching his cheek again. "Go on."

 

He took a deep breath. "Where do you see us in five years? Or, well― what do you want from this?"

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Like," he gestured towards him, "a house in the suburbs with a buncha cats or, do you see us even living together? You... still want to actually get married someday?"

 

"Yeah. I do. I really, _really_ do want to marry you."

 

"How can I be a better partner to you? So we make it to that. Where we can get married."

 

He cupped Bucky's jaw. "Like I said. Be honest with me. Nothing feels worse than when you hide shit from me."

 

 _Tell him, he won’t be mad_ , he thought, but that lump in his throat was making it hard to push out the truth. He opened his mouth, ready to blurt it all out, but then he said, "Okay Stevie. Anything else?"

 

He looked away for a second before kissing him slowly, trailing down the side of his neck. "Listen. It ain't like I don't like having sex with you, okay? I love it. I'm still a guy. Your guy. And I'm still horny eighty five percent of the day, that's never changed, probably never will. Nothing gets me off like you do. It's just― it's like a sour candy. Sweet in the heat of the moment and makes me fall completely in love with you all over again, but then leaves me worried that we've ruined everything again at the end."

 

"How can we fix that?"

 

"Just fuck me like you mean it and don’t leave me."

 

"Okay."

 

And then he leaned closer, "fuck me tonight, like you _really_ mean it."

 

He took in a shaky breath. "I can do that."

 

"I'll hold you to that, Buck. 'm hungry though, so, food first."

 

"Right. Food first, uh," he looked outside. "It's Christmas."

 

"Wow, Buck! Gold star for being observant!"

 

He rolled his eyes. "No, I mean, everything's closed, dipshit. And you don't really got any food back at home."

 

Steve pulled out his phone, typing despite his shattered screen. He held it up to him with the web page to their favorite Chinese place open.

 

"Not everything."

 

* * *

 

 

"All we need to do is get you bright pink bunny pajamas and have you shoot out my eye, and we'll be living the _Christmas Story_ dream," Bucky said as he leaned his elbows against the table in the Chinese restaurant. They’d loitered around their old neighborhood longer than they’d thought they would, and when they were done, they still went driving around Brooklyn, taking in all the sights that they’d made a mark on.

 

No one else knew it, but Brooklyn was theirs.

 

"Why do I have to do it? Can't you shoot your own damn eye out?"

 

"Nah. Ain't fun that way, Stevie."

 

"Your concept of fun is... very strange, Buck."

 

"You judging me? Mister ‘I'd rather stay home on a Saturday night to watch ten hours worth of World War two documentaries on Netflix’."

 

"Hey,” he pointed at him with a chopstick. "You told me yourself you thought those were cool. The World War two in color one especially."

 

"They _are_ cool, but, we've already established my tastes are questionable. So, my opinions invalid either way."

 

Steve chuckled, reaching out to grab Bucky’s hand from across the table. They were the only ones in here, besides the workers. Their phone had been ringing all night to the point that they’d stopped taking calls and decided to call it a night instead. A few of them, the owners and a chef, were sitting at a table across from them. They were playing games, loudly talking amongst themselves over beers. They’d invited them to play with them (which, they did, and that’s how they wound up losing five rounds of Uno in a row before they gave up).

 

They told them not to rush and they were welcome to stay as long as they wanted. With the snow only picking, they weren’t in any rush to leave.

 

"Buck."

 

"Hm?" He said with a mouthful of chicken. He glanced at Steve's plate; most of the vegetables had been eaten, but the majority of his rice and curry was still untouched.

 

"I really am glad you could come. I― I haven't been hell to be around, have I?"

 

Bucky's brows knitted as he swallowed. "Stevie, _no_. You've been great. Why would you think that?"

 

"I don't know. I just feel bad I guess, for... for not trusting you and, I feel like I've been questioning everything you do."

 

"You got every reason to think that way. S'why I'm trying to gain your trust back. Is... is it working at all? _Are_ you starting to trust me again?"

 

Steve nodded. "I am."

 

Bucky couldn't help the ear to ear grin he got from that answer. "You know you..." he looked over to the busy table and then lowered his voice. "You mean everything to me, Steve, okay? Maybe I haven't always acted like that. But, fuck, I love you."

 

"I love you too."

 

"And I'm glad to be here too. No other place I'd want to be than here, with you," he squeezed his hand.

 

"I guess― I guess I have a question too now."

 

"Shoot."

 

"When's the next time you're gonna come back after this?"

 

Bucky sighed. "I don't know. I hope it ain't gonna be too long. Maybe I can come back when you have spring break?"

 

" _That_ long?" he whined.

 

"Stevie, it ain't that easy. Between the drive being like, twelve to thirteen hours _one_ way and you having school, and me having work... we'll figure it out, okay?"

 

"Okay."

 

"I don't want it to be super long."

 

"What if I don't get to see you for― months though?"

 

"Why would it take months for us to see each other again?"

 

"Like if something happens to you."

 

"What's going to happen to m―"

 

"Or us."

 

"What's going to happen to _us_?" Except, Bucky knew exactly what would happen because he was still lying to Steve. He was so close to being clean about everything, but still so far.

 

"Just, humor me on this. If anything did happen to us, the end goals still always gonna be us, right?"

 

"Yes, Steve. It's always gonna be us. Always gonna be _you_. This is some heavy talk for Chinese food," he looked around the restaurant and Steve laughed.

 

"Yeah, uh, what do you want to do after this?"

 

"Well," Steve looked at him, licking his lips as he made a fist in front of him and started jerking it back and forth. Bucky choked on his drink, and Steve started laughing even harder. "We still need to get a new photo. To replace the ripped one."

 

"Oh, _yeah_ ," Bucky said as he wiped a napkin across his lips. "Wanna go to the park?"

 

"And, what, have a snowball fight?"

 

"Maybe."

 

Steve rolled his eyes. "You're such a child."

 

"Steve, it's fun. Lighten up. Where's your inner kid spirit?"

 

"Back at home with my Lego Death Star set."

 

"Jesus, you actually have one of those?"

 

"I got it for a really good price on Black Friday, okay? It was thirty dollars on Amazon."

 

"Wow, what a steal for building Legos in the apartment you live in, all by yourself, with your fully grown roommate."

 

"Not by myself. Haven't built it yet."

 

"And you want me to help you...?"

 

"Please, sweetheart. I'd be so grateful if you did."

 

Bucky groaned. "Fine. Anything for you, little man."

 

"Thanks, honey."

 

"Don't push it."

 

Steve picked at his food which got Bucky gesturing towards him. "Hey, you said you were hungry but you've hardly touched your uh, actual meal. You feeling okay?"

 

Steve looked at him, biting his lip for a second. "Yeah, Buck. 'm fine. I'll just get it to go."

 

"If you say so."

 

"Wait, Buck?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"How much longer are you here for again?"

 

"Leaving the day after New Years Eve, bud. Uh, Jan first."

 

"And there's no way you can stay any longer than that...?"

 

"Steve."

 

"You can't leave January second, perhaps?"

 

He rolled his eyes but he was smiling. "We'll see."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"It's actually kinda... nice out. Peaceful," Steve said. His arm was linked with Bucky's. There was a park only a few blocks away from Steve’s complex. There were a couple of swings, some monkey bars and a seesaw. Now, normally Bucky would’ve ran full speed at those swings and had Steve push him (yes, really), but they were covered in snow. And he didn’t want to be standing around with cold, wet pants right now.

 

"Peaceful s'long we don't get frostbite."

 

"Won't get frostbite if I keep stealing your body heat," Steve smiled up at him.

 

"Yeah. Wonderful."

 

He tugged on him. "Come build a snowman with me."

 

"Uh―"

 

"Not childish. It's an art form, you see."

 

"Uh huh. Sure it is."

 

"Why couldn't it be? Ice carving is an art."

 

"Yeah, 'cause you're making sculptures from blocks of ice. S'like what they do at the county fair with butter. Takes talent. Making a snowman, however, does not."

 

"Does too, if you put a lot of effort into it."

 

"Okay, well, I ain't putting effort into it."

 

"What good are you?"

 

"I'm not. What I've been trying to tell you all along," he pinched his side.

 

Steve ended up pulling him into the thick of the snow. Together, they rolled up clumpy piles and stacked them until the snowman matched Bucky in height. Tugging off a glove with his teeth, Bucky shoved his fingers into the snowman’s skull to form eyes, trailing a finger along the bottom to create a crooked smile. Steve came back to him with two sticks, jabbing them into his sides for arms.

 

The last ingredient was Bucky’s scarf. He took it off, wrapping it around the snowman’s neck. He took a step back, tugging Steve with him as he made two L shapes with his fingers and flipped them around to form a box. He stared at the snowman through his newly created lens.

 

"Art."

 

"Don't _mock_ me, jerk."

 

"Only mocking you out of love, Steve."

 

"That what it is?"

 

"Sure. Could be."

 

Steve pulled Bucky closer until their frozen lips were touching. His breath was so warm on his face that he held Steve in place.

 

"Keep breathing on me, it feels so good," he muttered.

 

"What the hell. Go breathe on your own damn self," Steve tried to pull away, only not really because instead he pushed his head into Bucky's chest. He wrapped his arms around him. He rested his chin on top of Steve’s head, not moving until he said, "It's so hard being here without you, Buck."

 

"Whaddya mean?"

 

He looked up at him but then his focus drifted behind him instead. Bucky turned around to see an older man walking his dog, Steve poking at him.

 

"Ask him if he'll take our photo."

 

" _What_? He's walking his dog. I don't wanna bother him."

 

"Sure you do. Go ask," he gave him a shove.

 

Grumbling under his breath, he timidly approached the man, who was carefully studying Bucky. He slid his backpack over his shoulders and pulled out his Polaroid, raising it to him. “Hey, uh, sorry to bother you but, we were wondering if you could take a photo of us."

 

The man looked at him for a second longer, which got Bucky sweating, but then he erupted into smiles. "Sure, sure. With the snowman?"

 

"Oh," he smiled back, "mind doing two actually? One with and one without?"

 

"Not a problem. What're you boys up to in the snow at nine PM on Christmas?"

 

"Just on a walk with my boyfriend 'cause he likes to torture himself with the cold weather. And, plus, 'm visiting from out of state, so we don't really wanna sit around all day 'cause... that's boring."

 

"Where're you visiting from?"

 

"Shelbyville. Indiana," he walked back over to Steve, handing the guy the camera. "This is Steve. And I'm Bucky."

 

"Erik," he shook his hand, reaching for Steve's who awkwardly fumbled as he grabbed his hand. "Which do you want first?"

 

Steve looked at Bucky. "He said we could do one with our new kid and just the two of us."

 

"Wish we had a carrot nose."

 

"We got some chopsticks in the car."

 

"Awh, no. That would make this snowman look even more pathetic."

 

"I got some," Erik reached into his pocket, pulling out a wrapped hard candy, "cough drops. Would that work?"

 

"You're a lifesaver," Bucky took it from him and unwrapped it, giving it a quick lick that made Steve shake his head before he centered it between his eyes and smile. "Perfect. Look, Steve. Now your noses match."

 

"My nose ain't _that_ red."

 

"Almost. You know you're shivering, right? C'mere," Bucky pulled him into his side as he slouched down. Steve threw his arm around the snowman.

 

"Alright, say cheese," Erik said as he snapped the photo. Bucky pulled it out and grinned at it.

 

"Awh, that's cute," he pulled out his wallet to carefully store it away.

 

"Can I have that one?"

 

Bucky brushed his cheek with the back of his hand. "'course, Stevie. Okay, come here again and act like you like me."

 

"I _do_ like you!"

 

"Wow, this really is a Christmas miracle." Bucky this time was the one to lean down and grab Steve's face, pulling him in for a kiss as the flash went off. As it printed, he shook it and took the camera back. He pulled out his wallet again and looked at the torn prom photo.

 

"Definitely think this is a good replacement," he slid the new photo in the front. He looked to Erik. "Thank you, a lot."

 

"Wait, wait. Can I pet your dog?" Steve looked at him. Bucky huffed.

 

"Let the poor man go, Steve."

 

Erik laughed. "Sure you can. He doesn't bite."

 

Steve bent to a knee and scratched behind his ears. "Awh. What's his name?"

 

"Lassie."

 

"I love dogs so much. Ugh, Buck," he looked behind his shoulder, "can―"

 

"We'll see," he grabbed the back of his collar, forcing him to stand. "Have a good rest of your night."

 

"You boys as well. Merry Christmas."

 

"Merry Christmas," they both said. Then Bucky pulled his scarf back from the snowman and looped it around his neck, shivering himself now. "Can we go home now? Gonna fuckin' freeze out here and become the next human Frosty soon."

 

"It's not  _that_ bad."

 

"It is," he whispered.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When they got home, they realized how quickly the day seemed to melt away. Bucky didn’t realize they’d been out for so long until he sat down and his legs ached something awful. Now all he wanted to do was snuggle up with Steve on the couch and watch a movie

 

“Hey, you got any popcorn?” Bucky asked him, to which Steve nodded. “Yeah, but you have to make it yourself.”

 

So he did. Sometimes Bucky was lazy. Not when it involved popcorn though.

 

Now finished with their popcorn and having gone through two beers each, Steve was resting his head against Bucky’s shoulder, thumb brushing his knuckles. "S'like they fill up Netflix full of flicks for the holidays but, they're all shit." They'd made it halfway through _Merry Kissmas_ before Bucky threw his head back in regret, trying not to cackle from how bad this movie was.

 

"Told you we should've watched _The Grinch_ ," Bucky said in a rehearsed sing-song tone, tapping his fingers against his side. Steve rolled his eyes with a groan, snuggling in further.

 

"I hate _The Grinch_ , Buck. You know that."

 

Bucky snorted. "Better than this garbage though, ain't it?"

 

"Yes. But hardly," Steve squeezed him, and then that's when he caught his eyes again. Fuck, this was so _boring_ , it made him even more restless and achy. Time for plan two? He nodded to himself, which he realized he actually did and _that’s_ why Steve was staring at him weird.

 

Everything about the night had been making his head swim; their actual decent talks, Bucky getting a newfound sense of hope for himself, that he could stop himself from completely wrecking his friendship with Steve, leisurely driving in the snow past their childhood homes as Steve breathed against his neck. It was all catching up to him.

 

He wasn't sure if it was Christmas working its magic or just the fact that he'd been pent up for months and any contact Steve gave him made his dick massively twitch, but he didn't care. He wanted to prove to Steve he could fuck him, lovingly, and _not_ mess up afterwards.

 

He was still locked with those baby blues that had no glimmer of innocence in them and so he shrugged Steve off, leaning forward to brush his lips against Steve's. Soft and warmer than the apartment, tasting like lingering fried rice and breath mints and feeling like _home_.

 

His hand was pressing against Steve's shoulder as he twisted his torso, hovering over the smaller man as his back met the couch. His knee brushed against his side, mouth opening. He swallowed down his air, licked against his tongue and craved to trace a trail down his bare skin, like he was creating a map, trying to remember and mark off the areas that got Steve squirming and jumping under his fingertips.

 

"Buck," his voice broke off and he moaned openly. He wanted this damn hoodie off of him, and Steve seemed to be on board with that as he wedged himself up on an elbow to shimmy it over his head, his t-shirt nudged halfway up his torso. He darted down to his exposed skin, traveling up his navel, brushing his nose along the light hairs that spread past his waistband.

 

Flicking his tongue out, he licked his way up to Steve's chest, his bones dipping like the crevasse of a mountain; he grazed his teeth over his nipple and that's when he was again rewarded with that same breathless, " _Buck_ ," but then it was followed by, " _fuck_ " and a loud thump, presumably his head falling back.

 

He peeked back at him before he was scurrying to toss his shirt aside and onto the rug. Fucking Christ, he felt like he was going to burst out of his jeans (his fault for wearing his skinny ones), his dick straining. Every movement he made, his dick rubbed against his briefs and it made him have to bite the inside of his cheek so he wouldn't black out.

 

His hips plunged against Steve’s. He fisted through his hair, tugging him closer until he was licking into his mouth and Steve’s tongue was rubbing against the roof of his mouth. He pivoted his hips, grinding against Steve like a dog off its leash; unrestricted and eager.

 

"The things you do to me, Steve," Bucky muttered as he rubbed against his jawline, lips drawing down until he met a sensitive part of his neck that got his dick to jump from inside his pants. The moment his teeth made contact with his skin and he started sucking hard enough to leave a mark, Steve’s chest was pressed flush against Bucky’s. He snaked his hand under him, holding up his back.

 

Steve pushed a forced laugh out of his nostrils, his hand cupping the nape of Bucky’s neck. "The things you do to _me_. God, I'm so fucking hard already."

 

"Getting you all hot and bothered for real now, huh, Stevie?" He pulled back to his face and was pressing himself against his lips. There was no mercy in the way he toyed with his lips, ruthless. He wanted to bruise him. He wanted to leave Steve a mess under him.

 

Steve whimpered, "fuckin' leaking in my pants here."

 

"Legs. Wrap 'em around me," he instructed, and Steve obliged with no hesitation. "Hold on," he murmured against his ear as he hauled him into his arms, taking them into the bedroom. He sat Steve down, and his fingers greedily dashed up to Bucky, palming over his fly before he groped him. Bucky threw his head forward, bumping Steve’s shoulder with a low growl.

 

His fingers start unworking the front button of his jeans before he hears his zipper yanked down. And then, there’s a palm flat to his chest.

 

“Sit,” Steve’s eyes are clouded over with lust. He’s seen this look countless times before, yet… it seemed different. Because he was still smiling, even though his hair looked like a birds nest and he had a shiny new mark on his neck and his lips already looked swollen. He could see his laughter lines, he could feel the giddiness radiating from him.

 

This was new. Maybe they really were starting over, fresh. Doing this relationship right. Steve damn deserved it. He deserved love, real love. The kind Bucky knew he could give him if he stopped putting up so many barriers between Steve and it.

 

“Don’t make me ask twice.” The authoritativeness in his voice sent chills down Bucky’s spine. He doesn’t stall any further. He pushes his palms into the mattress as Steve drops to his knees and wraps his fingers under the waistband of his briefs (his stomach jumps at the touch).

 

Then, in one strong swoop, he yanks them down and Bucky’s cock springs to life. He’s so fucking hard it makes him bite his lip. Not like Steve hadn’t always done this to him; drove his body insane just like he did to his mind.

 

Steve looked him in the eyes and he could see the saliva more clearly on his lips now. He darted back down to take in his cock; dark red, glistening with precum, no self control.

 

He flicked his tongue out, and with his mouth hanging open, he slowly licked across his front teeth, teasing him. Putting on a show. Making him work for this.

 

“ _God_ , don’t,” he threw his head back, swallowing. His mouth felt like he’d been lost in the desert for twelve days; scratchy, dry, wanting. “You’re killing me.”

 

Steve snorted. And then his lips were placed to the underside of his dick, not moving. Soft, warm, made his brain glitch out. When he started moving them, kissing up his shaft, his eyes practically rolled to the back of his head. He needed them to stay open though. He _needed_ to see this, watch him. Watch as Steve worked his way around his dick like he was better friends with it than he was Bucky. Take it in as he made a mess of both of them.

 

With a slender finger raised, he used the very tip of his blunt nail to draw a line up towards the top of his dick, then back down. He went up again, but now with two fingers, pressed flat against him, skin moving under his touch. It made Bucky groan, soft and small. He kissed around the base of his shaft until he moved away and kissed the inside of his thigh instead.

 

It wasn’t until he was cupping his nuts and his lips were swallowing him halfway into his mouth that Bucky tangled his fingers through his hair.

 

“Mm, _Steve_ ,” he looked up at the ceiling, only to catch his breath and maybe try to calm down the race his heart was trying to win. “Always had a way with that mouth of yours. Not― not just good for debating.”

 

“ _Shut up_ ,” his words vibrated against him and it made his ass clench, his fingers only burrow deeper into his blond locks. Finally, _finally_ , he was starting to bob his head at a slow pace while his fingers toyed and played with everything his mouth couldn’t reach; he formed a ring around the base of his dick, stroking slower than the pace he went at with his sucking.

 

“God,” he bit the inner skin of his cheek, trying to keep himself from being disgusting and goddamn drooling. He could feel heat seeping down beneath his pores, how his body felt like it was on fire but still tickled by the lingering chill of Steve’s apartment at the same time.

 

Bucky practically groaned when Steve pulled off him with a loud pop before he was sucking his own fingers into his mouth. Bucky watched him, nostrils flaring.

 

He took Bucky back into that wet heat, deeper down his throat until he almost gagged (which Bucky flicked him and told him to take it easy, because yeah, he still worried about him even in the middle of sex).

 

He leaned back on his hand further so his ass lifted from the mattress. When he felt his finger trace around his asshole, it made his leg spaz. His head lolled back again and he gave up on trying to see every little detail of his movements. He rested his own face against his shoulder. He always thought the idea of filming them was hot; too risky, duh, and he didn’t want to do that to Steve, but the thought of being able to watch Steve suck him off over and over again did bad things to him.

 

“I wanna feel you,” Bucky breathed. Steve grunted in response as he continued circling the entrance of him before he was pushing in. It was rough, tight, skin on skin and he couldn’t make it too far in on just spit alone, but the pressure itself made Bucky’s breath catch.

 

He cupped the side of Steve’s jaw as he moved his finger around, pulling Bucky out of his mouth to spit on his fingers again. He pushed his middle back inside him with more ease this time.

 

Steve pressed his tongue flat against Bucky’s dick. He kept fucking his way in and out of Bucky until he harshly grabbed hin chin and angled him so he could meet him through his lashes. “Stop fingering me and put my dick back in your mouth.”

 

Steve nodded, doing just as he asked. He tapped on his full cheek, cupping the back of his neck before he said, “Don’t move”, shifting his hips.

 

Steve squeezed his thigh in response. Slowly, very slowly he started fucking up into his mouth, clenching onto him. Steve dug his fingers into his hips as he tried to steady himself, groaning against him. Then, Bucky felt one of his hands disappear and watched as he slid it down to palm over his bulging pants.

 

He hit the back of his throat when Steve squeezed his eyes shut and his hand slipped under his waistband. Bucky quickly pulled away, that popping noise of his lips free from his dick even louder this time, and he gripped Steve’s chin, pulling him onto the bed until he crashed against his mouth. All he could taste was himself. His lips were slicked in saliva, fucking red and precum dripped on his chin. He kissed him right below the lips.

 

He quickly kicked his own pants the rest of the way off, struggling when he got to the ankles that hugged to his body. Steve started laughing something awful and Bucky smacked him.

 

“Ain’t funny, punk.”

 

“It so is.”

 

Passing on taking off his shirt (he said he was cold when Steve raised a brow), he gripped onto Steve’s pants, pulling them down. He nodded towards his nightstand. “Lube. Gonna fuck you,” he says against the corner of his mouth, and again Steve is whimpering with a nod.

 

He can see Steve leaving his pants behind as he comes back. Bucky pulls him on top of his lap at the same time Steve clicks the lid open. He raises his fingers to Bucky before he sucking them into his mouth and licking around his fingertips; he pulls them away to slick them with lube so he can start working himself open with two fingers. He pauses for a second to pour more lube on his hand and starts to stroke down Bucky’s dick as he keeps fingering himself at a quicker pace.

 

"Gimme the condom," Bucky's hand was holding Steve's ass, other clutched around the back of his neck as he pulled him closer, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

 

"Oh, fuck," Steve's breath left him in a huff, tickling his own face. Their noses brushed together.

 

"Never mind.  _Don't_ get back up."

 

"I'm not,"Steve's pulling his fingers out of himself, and then, it was like he'd been asleep the other night because everything felt so damn exaggerated to him right now. As he pushed Bucky inside him, he felt like he was going to choke. Steve was tight, made  _his_ balls tighten and fingers itch for something to grab onto, something to pull that wasn't skin because, god he felt like if he were to pull on the sheets, he'd rip them. Maybe it was the sentimentality from the day that got everything feeling like he was having sex again for the first time, or maybe it was just Steve letting himself have fun.

 

"Fuckin’ hell," Steve pants. His head is on Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky cranes his neck to kiss his ear, his jaw, fingers back in his sweat-slicked hair. He starts massaging his ass before he stops, and then slaps it, Steve groaning loudly against his skin.

 

"Still feel okay?" Bucky huffs out.

 

"Feels like 'm gonna come already," he breathlessly laughed. His hips started moving, and he’s slowly riding Bucky, moving at a pace that’s comfortable for them both. He presses his hand flat to the small of Bucky’s back and goes in for another kiss. Their breaths are competing as he moves himself up and down Bucky’s slick cock. When Steve clenches his ass, everything tightens and only swallows him in further, and it makes Bucky yell, “Awh, _God_ , _Steve_!”

 

He can’t even think anymore. He’s so consumed in… euphoria is one thing he knows is there. He’s relaxed with Steve like this. He feels comfortable. And, he feels love, when he catches Steve looking at him, all slack jawed and chest heaving.

 

“Fuck me,” Steve mutters against him. Bucky smacks his ass again before gripping onto him and pulling his cheek. “God, Buck, I want you.”

 

He nudges Steve’s chin back with the top of his head. He starts kissing a path down the column of his throat, licking over his adam’s apple and grazing his skin. He breathes hot against him and he feels Steve’s nails digging into him.

 

With a whisper, he taps on his lower back. "Turn around, honey. I'ma fuck you real good."

 

"Please. I gotta― I need ta come."

 

"I'll make you come, Stevie."

 

Steve slides off of him. Bucky shuffles back, sitting on his knees, tugging on Steve’s wrist to get him to come closer. He’s sitting on Bucky’s lap, his legs behind his. Bucky wraps his arm around him to grab his chin, pulling him into a kiss.

 

He grabs his own dick and taps it against the crease of his ass, teasingly, watching as Steve’s brows twitch.

 

“ _Please_.”

 

He slides back into him. "Feel good, Stevie?"

 

"Y-yes," he groaned, licking at his lips. So Bucky starts thrusting his hips upwards, fucking into Steve. His balls slap his skin and Steve’s dick bounces with each movement. He moans, high and broken and he can tell it accidentally slips out, which makes it sort of precious to him. “B- _Buck._ ”

 

"S'at it, sweetheart," he kissed his neck again. He has a death grip on his hip now, and he’s only half curious how many bruises he’s going to leave (probably none but, who knows. Steve bruised like a damn peach).

 

"Want more?"

 

"Yes, please. Want all of you," he murmured back.

 

"Yeah? How bad you want it, Stevie?"

 

"So bad, Bucky. Please."

 

"Gonna beg me?"

 

" _Please_ ," he cried, cupping his hand over Bucky's. He wrapped their fingers together. That really got him going, that extra contact, and he started pounding into him with no intention of stopping until he was crying his release.

 

" _Fuckkk_ ," his head fell back against his shoulder. "'m god, _yes_ ," he hissed. "Shit, right there, Buck. Nn, fuck." He clutched his hand harder.

 

"That good, Stevie?"

 

"Yes," he panted. "I'm gonna― I'm gonna come, Bucky, god, I'm gonna come."

 

"Come for me, honey."

 

"I'm gonna―" Steve, still holding onto Bucky with one hand, used his other to fist over his dick. Bucky met his eyes, shaking his head as he smacked his hand away. That’s not how they played this game.

 

Instead, he wrapped his fist around his dick and pumped him for him. He watched as his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He let go of his hand to grip his chin and kiss his way back into his mouth.

 

He groaned down his throat as he started coming. He doesn't stop until Steve's hips are bucking and twitching. "Fuck―"

 

And then he quickly pulls out of Steve, pushing him so he’s flat against the bed and he can straddle him over his chest. Steve has his hands placed back on his thighs.

 

He starts jacking himself quickly before he’s spurting all over his chest, over his neck. Steve pushes himself up on his elbow and licks at his slit, sucking him into his mouth. He falls forward, head knocking against the headboard as he groaned, lower than he knew he could go.

 

Steve pulls him out of his mouth and his dick gives one final twitch.

 

Their breaths are competing in a ragged race with no winners, but there's still a prize, because Steve is sharing that same groggy smile he knows is reflected back on his own face, and damn if that didn't  _feel_ like winning. For once, he really didn't want to go anywhere. Didn't want to run out of the room and lock himself in the bathroom to mope in shame. He wanted to pull Steve closer and admire that man, soak up the attention he gave him and bathe in his affection. 

 

He slid off of Steve to pick up a shirt discarded on his floor (wasn't a coincidence he went for the bright pink one, damn shirt was already ugly enough as it was) and crawled back over to Steve, wiping off his chest and kissing along his chin, trailing his cheeks, finally meeting his lips.

 

"I love you, Steven. So fucking much."

 

"Promise you ain't going anywhere?"

 

" _Promise_."

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, it has been a very, very long time since this story was last updated. Like, since the summer. I ended up making some changes to the story and the direction it's going in; a few standalone fics are going to be merged into this one just to make the flow of things easier. The final total of this story is probably going to end up around 150kish, with probably 10 chapters, give or take. Still trying to figure out how to space out the chapters so they're shorter and easier to write/get out faster.
> 
> Though the next chapter might be a pretty long one. We'll see...
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has bookmarked, subscribed and kudos this series! It's been a journey to write lmao
> 
> Also man, I feel so uncomfortable writing smuttier things but I'm trying to get past that... lmao x2 and dies


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